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?/ PROSE YOU OUGHT TO KNOW 

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Managing Editor, Library of "The World's Best 

Poetry"; "A Treasury of Ilhtstralion" from 

Henry Ward Beecher, etc. 



PROSE I 

: YOU OUGHT TO KNOW % 

; ^ 

I EDITED BY W 

JOHN RAYMOND HOWARD S 

I 

i 

i 
I 

I 

LONDON EDINBURGH 5S 

I i 






CHICAGO NEW YORK TORONTO 

FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY 



LIBRARY of CONQRESS 
Two Ceples Htctiiei 

NOV 3 1906 

CLASS iA XXC., No, 

o5fy b: '' 



r 






CopyriyhU 1906 
By Flejiing H. Revell Cojipany 



THE ITNIVEHSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U, S. A. 



PREFACE 



To spend leisure moments in a well-selected assem- 
blage of poems is wisdom and delight, for the 
poets give us the condensed expression of the 
beautiful and the noble — like the attar of a 
thousand roses. Yet the prose writings of which the 
intelligent reader should know something are vastly 
more extensive than all the poetry, and it seems a 
gracious task to gather brief extracts from some of the 
famous and worthy, which may at least hint at the rich- 
ness of an essay, a tale, a history, an oration, that has 
illumined the mind or thrilled the heart. 

This is the aim of the present series of excerpts from 
prose works in the English language, the authors quoted 
being British or American. It is a matter of course 
that material has been included which other compilers^ 
would have passed by, and a multitude of names omitted 
which are quite worthy of inclusion. The permuta- 
tions and combinations of taste are infinite, so that, even 
if not, according to the familiar proverb, beyond dispute, m 
they should at least be accepted with the open mind, in "* 
the hope of edification. Certainly the authors are chiefly 
of the most distinguished, nearly all the works cited are 
among the best known, and the extracts given — many 
already familiar, because recognised as typical — are ex- 
amples of the quaUties which have given their authors 
high rank. 

Since there is no attempt to give a systematic " view " 
of anything, the arrangement of this miscellany is in- 
tbrmal, — a loose grouping of successive extracts which 



1 



PREFACE 



treat of similar themes, the groups passing into one 
another without set limits. The list of authors (with 
titles and sources of the extracts) is made alphabetical, 
however, for easy finding of individual writers, and the 
names of the publishers of American authors are given, 
whether the material be in copyright or not, both for due 
credit and for the benefit of readers who would like to 
find more of any given author. The brief biographical 
notices prefacing the extracts may serve either for infor- 
mation or reminder, as the case may be. 

It would have been easier, and far more satisfactory to 
the editor, to make the extracts longer; but the intent 
has been only to catch the interest, and suggest good 
company that may have been overlooked. If, then, 
these selected passages offer some inspiration to the 
discerning spare-minute reader, and incite a desire to 
know more of the work of those who have produced 
them, the object of the collection will have been 
fulfilled. 



fe^g^il^^^^^ 



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NEVER come into a library (saith Heinsius) hut I bolt the 
door to me, excluding Just, ambition, avarice, and cdl such vices 
■whose nurse is idleness, the mother of ignoraiice and melancholy 
herself ; and in the very lap of eternity, among so m,any divine 
souls, I take my seat with so lofty a spirit and sweet content 
that I pity all our great ones and rich men that know not their 
happiness. — Robert Burton. 

"Anatomy of Melancholy," 



7i 



James Russell Lowell ^ 



1819-1891 



g^l If any man may be trusted to advise as to the reading of books, 
it surely is that fine scholar, keen critic, subtle wit, choice poet, 
y^ elegant writer, and clear-headed commentator on public affairs, 
*■ James Russell Lowell. With generous ardour in his early days, he 
advocated noble reforms, and — as in the humorous sarcasm of 
"The Biglow Papers," the first series on the Mexican War and 
-_ the second on the War of Secession — he lashed unworthy causes. 
ij' Widely travelled, extensively read, he gave high tone, as editor, to 
the Atlantic Monthly and the NoHh American Review, and as pro- 
'Q\\J fessor of Belles Lettres at Harvard upheld the refined traditions 
of that chair. His final public services as Minister to Spain 
^ (1877-80) and to Great Britain (1880-85) stood upon a high and 
■" honoured plane. His many writings of illuminative criticism make 
him a standard authority in literature. 



H 



WORTH AND CHOICE OF BOOKS 

AVE you ever rightly considered what the 
mere abihty to read means ? That it is the 
key which admits us to the whole world of 
thought and fancy and imagination ; to the 
company of saint and sage, of the wisest and the wit- 
tiest at their wisest and wittiest moments ? That it 
enables us to see with the keenest eyes, hear with the 
finest ears, and listen to the sweetest voices of all time ? 
More than that, it annihilates time and space for us ; it 
revives for us without a miracle the Age of Wonder, 



z^ 



JAMES EUSSELL LOWELL 

endowing us with the shoes of swiftness and the cap of 
darkness. . . . 

ijjv We often hear of people who will descend to any 
servility, submit to any insult, for the sake of getting 
themselves or their children into what is euphemistically 
called good society. Did it ever occur to them that 

^ there is a select society of all the centuries to which 
they and theirs can be admitted for the asking, a society, 
too, which will not involve them in ruinous expense, and 
still more ruinous waste of time and health and faculties ? 

j5> Southey tells us that, in his walk one stormy day, he 
met an old woman, to whom, by way of greeting, he 
made the rather obvious remark that it was dreadful 

.^^^ weather. She answered, philosophically, that, in her 

& opinion, " a7iy weather was better than none " ! I should 
be half inclined to say that any reading was better than 
none, allaying the crudeness of the statement by the 
Yankee proverb, which tells us that, though " all dea- 

^cons are good, there's odds in deacons." Among books, 

-11 certainly, there is much variety of company. . . . 

Q«Ur And the first lesson in reading well is that which teaches 

->^us to distinguish between literature and merely printed 

matter. 



o 



5a 



From : Books and Libraries. 









Lord Chesterfield 



1694-1773 

Philip Dormer Stanhope, Earl of Chesterfield, was a gentleman 
by birth and breeding, and made admirable use of the fortunate 
advantages of his station. Early gaining a court appointment, he 
was also elected to Parliament, and on his father's death entered 
the House of Lords. He was an energetic and eloquent parlia- 
mentarian, a distinguished diplomat, a statesman of real efficiency. 
His clear mind, quick wit, elegant manners, and kindly disposition 
made him a universal favourite as well with such literary lights as 
Swift, Pope, and Johnson as with the polished circles of the court. ^ 
He wrote somewhat for periodicals, but his "Letters to His Son" ^ 
constitute his best known work, and will never lose their sense, wit, 
and aptness for guidance to the value of good manners. 

GOOD BREEDING 

A FRIEND of yours and mine has very justly 
defined good breeding to be the result of w< 
much good sense, some good nature, and a ^ 
little self-denial for the sake of others, and 
with a view to obtain the same indulgence fi-om them. 
Taking this for granted (as I think it cannot be dis- ^ 
puted), it is astonishing to me that anybody who has Ta 
good sense and good nature (and I believe you have 
both), can essentially fail in good breeding. As to the 
modes of it, indeed, they vary according to persons and ^ 
places and circumstances, and are only to be acquired jT 
by observation and experience ; but the substance of it 
is everywhere and eternally the same. Good manners 
are to particular societies what good morals are to society ^ 
in general — their cement and security. And, as laws y 
are enacted to enforce good morals, or at least to pre- | 

4 _A 



ii 



LORD CHESTERFIELD f j 

vent the ill effects of bad ones, so there are certain rules W 
of civility, universally implied and received, to enforce /a 
good manners and punish bad ones. . . . Mutual I ^ 
complaisances, attentions, and sacrifices of little conven- \ 
iences, are as natural, as an implied compact between W 
civilised people, as protection and obedience are be- fd 
tween kings and subjects ; whoever, in either case, vio- I I 
lates that compact justly forfeits aU advantages arising V 
from it. For my own part, I really think that, next to |0 
the consciousness of doing a good action, that of doing A 
a civil one is most pleasing ; and the epithet which I lA 
should covet the most, next to that of Aristides, would ^N 
be that of well bred. ... wl 

There is a sort of good breeding in which people are fj 
the most apt to fail, from a very mistaken notion that f y 
they cannot fail at all. I mean with regard to one's most X 
familiar friends and acquaintances, or those who really ai'e iH 
our inferiors ; and there, undoubtedly, a greater degree fi 
of ease is not only allowed, but proper, and contributes \\ 
much to the comforts of a private, social life. But that ^ 
ease and freedom have their bounds too, which must by yr 
no means be violated. . . . The most familiar and // 
intimate habitudes, connections, and friendships require \V 
a degree of good breeding both to preserve and cement ^ 
them. ... W 

Make, then, my dear child, I conjure you, good breed- A 
ing the great object of your thoughts and actions, at I' 
least half the day, and be convinced that good breeding ^ 
is, to all worldly qualifications, what charity is to all 1^ 
Christian virtues. Observe how it adorns merit, and gt 
how often it covers the want of it. May you wear it V 
to adorn, and not to cover you. Jf 



From " Letters to His Son." 



Harriet Beecher Stowe 



1811-1896 



Daughter of the famed theologian and pulpit orator, Lyman 
Beecher, this gentle woman was the mate, and from childhood to 
death the peculiar and intimate friend, of her brother, Henry 
Ward. The whole family were talented ; Henry and Harriet were 
geniuses. In 1836 Miss Beecher married Di-. Calvin E. Stowe, a 
professor of Biblical literature successively at Lane Seminary, 
Bowdoin College, and Andover Seminary. Her early residence in 
Cincinnati led her across the border to Kentucky, where she 
made acquaintance with phases of negro slavery, which in 1850 
took form in the powerful tale of " Uncle Tom''s Cabin." This 
probably has sold more copies and been translated into more 
languages than any other book, save the Bible and " The Imita- 
tion of Christ." After several visits to Europe, Mrs. Stowe wrote 
"Sunny Memories of Foreign Lands " and " Agnes of Sorrento," 
also " Dred," another tale concerning slavery ; but chiefly she gave 
herself to stories of New England life, which she depicted with 
keen appreciation, abounding humoui-, and romantic beauty. " The 
Minister's Wooing" is one of the best of these; but there are vari- 
ous others delightfully enjoyable. Mrs. Stovve's style is fluent, 
almost careless, but musical, alluring, sparkling with wit and 
humour, in spirit soundly sensible, and of the most noble and 
generous sentiment. 



J^ HARRIET BEECHER STOWE 



YANKEE "FACULTY" 

M ^A CUL TY is Yankee for savoir faire, and the 
#-• opposite virtue to shiftlessness. Faculty is 
J^ the greatest virtue, and shiftlessness the great- 

est vice, of Yankee man and woman. To her 
who has faculty nothing shall be impossible. She shall 
scrub floors, wash, wring, bake, brew, and yet her hands 
shall be small and white ; she shall have no perceptible 
income, yet always be handsomely dressed ; she shall 
have not a servant in her house, — with a dairy to man- 
age, hired men to feed, a boarder or two to care for, 
unheard-of pickling and preserving to do, — and yet 
you commonly see her every afternoon sitting at her 
shady parlour- window behind the lilacs, cool and easy, 
hemming muslin cap-strings, or reading the last new 
book. She who hath faculty is never in a hurry, never 
behindhand. She can always step over to distressed <A^ 
Mrs. Smith, whose jelly won't come, — and stop to vA" 
show Mrs. Jones how she makes her pickles green, — Aj 
and be ready to watch with poor old Mrs. Simpkins, }qj. 
who is down with the rheumatism. 

Of this genus was the Widow Scudder, — or, as the 
neighbours would have said of her, she that was Katy 
Stephens. Katy was the only daughter of a shipmaster, 
sailing from Newport harbour, who was wrecked off the 
coast one cold December night and left small fortune to 
his widow and only child. Katy grew up, however, a 
tall, straight, black-eyed girl, with eyebrows drawn true 



)• • • • • 



• • • < 



HARRIET BEECHER STOWE 

as a bow, a foot arched like a Spanish woman's, and a 
little hand which nev^er saw the thing it could not do, — 
quick of speech, ready of wit, and, as such girls have a 
right to be, somewhat positive withal. Katy could har- 
ness a chaise, or row a boat ; she could saddle and ride 
any horse in the neighbourhood ; she could cut any gar- 
ment that ever was seen or thought of; make cake, 
jelly, and wine, from her earliest years, in most preco- 
cious style ; — all without seeming to derange a sort of 
trim, well-kept air of ladyhood that sat jauntily on her. 
Of course, being young and lively, she had her ad- 
mirers, and some well-to-do in worldly affairs laid their 
lands and houses at Katy's feet ; but, to the wonder of 
all, she would not even pick them up to look at them. 
People shook their heads, and wondered whom Katy 
Stephens expected to get, and talked about going 
through the wood to pick up a crooked stick, — till one 
day she astonished her world by marrying a man that 
nobody ever thought of her taking. 

From "The Minister's Wooing." 




THE FUGITIVE'S ESCAPE 

A thousand lives seemed to be concentrated in that 
one moment to Eliza. Her room opened by a side 
door to the river. She caught her child, and sprang 
down the steps towards it. The trader caught a full 
glimpse of her, just as she was disappearing down the 
bank ; and throwing himself from his horse, and calling 
loudly on Sam and Andy, he was after her like a hound 
after a deer. In that dizzy moment her feet to her 
scarcely seemed to touch the ground, and a moment 

8 



• • • • • _• • • • • • • 



,2te 



brought her to the water's edge. Right on behind 
they came ; and, nerved with such strength as God 
gives only to the desperate, with one wild cry and 
flying leap she vaulted sheer over the turbid current 
by the shore on to the raft of ice beyond. . . . 

The huge green fragment of ice on which she alighted 
pitched and creaked as her weight caine on it ; but she 
stayed there not a moment. With wild cries and des- 
perate energy she leaped to another and still to another 
cake ; stumbling — leaping — slipping — springing up- 
wards again ! Her shoes were gone, her stockings cut 
from her feet. Mobile blood marked every step ; but she 
saw nothing, felt nothing, till dimly, as in a dream, she 
saw the Ohio side, and a man helping her up the bank. 

" Yer a brave gal, now, whoever ye are ! " said the 
man with an oath. 

Eliza recognised the voice and face of a man who 
owned a farm not far from her old home. 

" O Mr. Symines ! — Save me — do save me — do 
hide me ! " said Eliza. 

" Why, what 's this ? " said the man. " Why, if 't ain't 
Shelby's gal ! " 

" My child I — this boy ! — he 'd sold him ! There is 
his JNIas'r," said she, pointing to the Kentucky shore. 
" O Mr. Symmes, you 've got a little boy ! " 

" So I have," said the man, as he roughly but kindly 
drew her up the steep bank. " Besides, you 're a right 
bi'ave gal. I like grit wherever I see it." 



From " Uncle Tom's Cabin." 



i-i Donald G. Mitchell H 

^f^ (IkMarvelP) *\rT 

it ---. . li 

-0 A choice man of letters is Mr. Mitchell, and it would take more ^ ^ 
/ \ space than we have at disposal to catalogue all his very acceptable p^ rv 
l^'V productions. Connecticut born, a graduate of Yale, a student ofrv^ 
A % law, a traveller abroad, he began authorship as early as 1847, with J ^ 
/■ > (\ a Fresh Gleanings ■" of European travel, and in 1897 brought out /^ ''v 
■k ^ " American Lands and Letters," ■ — an unusual period of produc- ^ ^ 
^ tivity. Probably the best known and best loved of all his books ^ 
p/'^ have been "Reveries of a Bachelor" (1850) and "Dream Life" >•^/'v 

1 1 (1851), each a sort of compound romance-essay, written in charm- ^ M 
% "^ ing style, showing much refined feeling, humour, pathos, knowledge * ' 
#.^ >-♦ of the world, and delicate imagining. Tliese have been reprinted *\ ('* 
/ \ over and ovei', translated into French, warmly commended both in i. \ 
If w America and England, and seem — particularly the first one — to ^ 
^% be now established classics in our book-world. •^ ,♦ 

k'P SEA-COAL J"^ 

•v/-« 7^f 

/ \ TT^I -^^ • ^^^ ^ thrust the poker into the clotted A \ 
^■y B-^ mass of fading coal ; just such, and so worthless, ' ^ 
»>, x-« 1 ^ is the used heart of a city flirt. ... /^\ 

/ \ -^^-^ When I marry a flirt, I will buy second-hand ^ -^ 
^w (ilathes-a£*fee-Jews. *>r* 

•^ /• — Still, mused I, as the flame danced again, there is / \ 
a distinction between coquetry and flirtation. |^ y 

A coquette sparkles, but it is more the sparkle of a •»> /• 
harmless and pretty vanity than of calculation. It is /[ \ 
the play of humours in the blood, and not the play of L '^ 



purpose at the heart. ... •x /• 

spice to your dinner — the mulled wine to your supper. ^ ^ 



Coquetry, with all its pranks and teasings, makes the 
ice to your dinner — the mulled wine to your supper. 

10 



/\ DONALD G. MITCHELL /^'v 

#^^» It will drive you to desperation, only to bring you back' , 

/ [A hotter to the fray. Who would boast a victory that •N'^^i 

% ^ cost no strategy, and no careful disposition of the forces ? %^ "^ 
*/'\-'- But let a man be very sure that the city is worth tv ,• 

La the siege! . ti 

J ^ Coquetry whets the appetite ; flirtation depraves it. ^ • 

/ \ Coquetry is the thorn that guards the rose, — easily ^ f^ 

^ ^ trimmed off when once plucked. Flirtation is like thej^ <^ 

•.. y-« slime on water-plants, making them hard to handle, and J ^ 

' ■ ■ when caught, only to be cherished in slimy waters. ' *^" 



o 



Q 



And so, Mdth my eye clinging to the flickering Blaze, 

-> ^ I see in my Reverie a bright one dancing before me ^\ (* 

L \ with sparkling, coquettish smile, teasing me with the *^ Jl 

\m prettiest graces in the world; and I grow maddened* ' 

•> <;• between hope and fear ; and still watch with my whole •> (^ 

L\ soul in my eyes; and see her features by-and-by relax jk A 

V "y to pity, as a gleam of sensibility comes stealing over her% ' 

)\ '\ spirit ; and then to a kindly, feeling regard : presently £^ f-^ 

Is J she approaches, — a coy and doubtful approach, — and fr<. -^ 

^ ^ throws back the ringlets that lie over her cheek, and lays © # 

y^'V her hand — a little bit of a white hand — timidly upon my / \ 

^« -J strong fingers, and turns her head daintily to one side, J^ "0 

»^ -« and looks up in my eyes as they rest on the playing*\<;» 

/ ]| Blaze ; and my fingers close fast and passionately over£^ A 

^ -y that little hand, like a swift night-cloud shrouding the j ' 

•v ^ pale tips of Dian ; and my eyes draw nearer and nearer y-^*^ 

/ \ to those blue, laughing, pitying, teasing eyes, and myr^'J 

^0 arm clasps round that shadowy form, — and my lips feelj ^ 

♦^ ,• a warm breath — growing warmer and warmer — / I 

/^ \ Just here the maid comes in, and throws upon the^ <\ 

^ y fire a panful of Anthracite, and my sparkling Sea-Coal J ^ 

•■^^M Reverie is ended. ^> 's. 

^ -J From " Reveries of a Bachelor." ^ <^ 



" • 



^ rr}a::a:}a:!a::cs:a:n: ^ 



lyL Edward George Earle BulweVy VSr 
(m Lord Lytton ^ 

1803-1873 

Bulwer, as he was known in all his earliei' years of magazine-writing 
and fiction-making, and is still called, was of aristocratic and 
wealthy lineage, but shortly after his graduation at Cambridge, in 
1826, he married against the family wishes, was thrown upon his 
own resources, and began writing for the periodicals and issuing 
novels. He wrote most acceptably to the English public, entered 
politics, was elected to Parliament, where with some lapses he sat 
until he became Secretary for the Colonies in 1858 ; and in 1866 
was made Bai'on Lytton, and passed to the House of Lords. His 
poems were many, though not of the highest merit ; he wrote sev- 
eral plays which — like " The Lady of Lyons," " Richelieu," and 
" JMoney " — were permanently successful, and are favourites to this 
day ; but his chief work was in his multiplicity of novels, — roman- 
tic, historical, detective, and those dealing with the weird and 
supernatural, — all more or less affected in style and sentiment, yet 
powerful, interesting, full of historical lore, social criticism, curious 
science, and dramatic phases of lova He has always remained a 
very popular writer, despite the critics, who girded at him. 



WOMAN AS FRIEND 

' T is a wondrous advantage to a man, in every pur- 
suit or avocation, to secure an adviser in a sensible 
woman. In woman there is at once a subtle deli- 
cacy of tact, and a plain soundness of judgment, 

which are rarely combined to an equal degree in man. 

A woman, if she be really your friend, will have a sen- 

12 



I 



EDWARD G. E. BULWER, LORD LYTTON 



sitive regard for your character, honour, repute. She 
will seldom counsel you to do a shabby thing, for a 
woman-fi'iend always desires to be proud of you. At 
the same time her constitutional timidity makes her 
more cautious than your male friend. She, therefore, 
seldom counsels you to do an imprudent thing. By 
female friendships, I mean pure friendships — those in 
which there is no admixture of the passion of love 
except in the married state. A man's best female 
friend is a wife of good sense and good heart, whom 
he loves, and who loves him. If he have that, he need 
not seek elsewhere. But supposing the man to be 
without such a helpmate, female friendships he must 
still have, or his intellect will be without a garden, and 
there will be many an unheeded gap even in its strong- 
est fence. Better and safer, of course, such friendships 
where disparities of years or circumstances put the vVj 
idea of love out of the question. Middle life has rarely 
this advantage ; youth and old age have. We may have 
female friendships with those much older, and those 
much younger than ourselves. . . . Female friendship, 
indeed, is to man "presidium et dulce decus " — the bul- 
wark and sweet ornament of his existence. To his 
mental culture it is invaluable ; without it all his 
knowledge of books will never give him knowledge of 
the world. 



From "The Caxtons.' 



13 



5) 



L,o rd Bacon 

1561-1626 



^ 



Francis Bacon, Baron Verulam, Viscount St. Albans, was the 
man usually called Lord Bacon. He was one of the most able and 
famous of the splendid array of geniuses in Queen Elizabeth's time, 
and inherited by her successor, King James. Scholar, lawyer, 
diplomat, parliamentarian, high officer of State, philosopher, sci- 
entist, he was a success in all departments ; but he stained his 
record with the small arts of the politician, traitorous conduct to 
his friends and the acceptance of bribes in office. He certainly 
seems to faii'ly merit Pope's damning epigram : " The wisest, 
brightest, meanest of mankind." His literary and philosophical 
work is his best claim to grateful remembrance. His "Essays" 
are condensed wisdom; his "Novum Organum" is the source of 
the inductive system of research, by which science has made its 
marvellous advance since his day ; and divers others of his works 
gained instant appreciation throughout the civilised world of his 
time. One thing he was not, — a poet, as his few sensible moral- 
isings in rhyme well attest. And to ascribe to his great talents 
the supreme poetic labours of Shakespeare is as if one should argue 
that because a certain tree bore apples of surpassing excellence it 
must necessarily have produced also the fragrant peaches in the 
neighbouring basket. 



Oj 



14 



LORD BACON 



CI 



61 



CI 



CN 



6V 



6) 



Y 



OF YOUTH AND AGE 

OUNG men are fitter to invent than to judge, 
fitter for execution than for counsel, and fitter 
for new projects than for settled business ; for 
the experience of age, in things that fall within 

^ the compass of it, directeth them ; but in new things 
abuseth them. The errors of young men are the ruin 
of business ; but the errors of aged men amount to but 

y- this, that more might have been done, or sooner. 

'■" Young men, in the conduct and manage of actions, 
embrace more than they can hold, stir more than they 
can quiet ; fly to the end without consideration of the 

^ means and degi'ees ; pursue some few pi'inciples which 
they have chanced upon absurdly ; care not to innovate, 
which draws unknown inconveniences ; use extreme 
remedies at first ; and, that which doubleth all errors, 

5ij) will not acknowledge or retract them, like an unready 
horse, that will neither stop nor turn. Men of age 
object too much, consult too long, adventure too little, 
repent too soon, and seldom drive business home to the 

?<) full period, but content themselves with a mediocrity of 
success. Certainly it is good to compound employments 
of both ; for that will be good for the present, because 
the virtues of either age may correct the defects of both ; 

'(J> and good for succession, that young men may be learn- 
ers, while men in age are actors ; and lastly, good for 
(f\Jf externe accidents, because authority followeth old men, 
and favour and popularity, youth ; but for the moral part, 

^ perhaps, youth will have the preeminence, as age hath for 
the politic. 



Ch 



From " Essays." 



15 



M^^^^^^^^^^^ 



ML Robert Louis Balfour Stevenson s^ 



1850-1904 



Educated as a civil engineer, this delightful Scottish cosmopoli- 
tan studied law, and, abandoning tliat for travel on account of 
ill-health, gave himself to literary pursuits. He became familiar 
with Europe, twice visited and spent some time in the United 
States, and finally went to Samoa, in the South Pacific, where he 
lived and wrote until his death. Despite his life-long struggles 
with the weakness of disease, the prominent note of his writings 
was cheerfulness and courage. His stories are full of vital force 
and power, his essays charming fi-om their sweetness of spirit, 
wealth of literary allusion, and free but refined elegance of style, 
while his poems for little folk have an extraordinary sympathy 
with the child''s point of view, and delight the older reader with 
dreams and memories of childhood. He is one of the favourite 
writers of the time. 



A' 



EPOCHS IN LIFE 

FULL, busy youth is your only prelude to a 
self-contained and independent age ; and the 
muff inevitably develops into the bore. . . . 
Youth is the time to go flashing from one end 
of the world to the other both in mind and body ; to 
try the manners of different nations ; to hear the chimes 
at midnight ; to see sunrise in town and country ; to be 
converted at a revival ; to circumnavigate the meta- 
physics, write halting verses, run a mile to see a fire, and 
wait all day long in the theatre to applaud Hernani. 



l^^^^^^^^^^^^ 




ROBERT LOUIS BALFOUR STEVENSON 

. . . Let him voyage, speculate, see all that he can, do 
all that he may ; his soul has as many lives as a cat, he 
will hve in all weathers, and never be a halfpenny the 
worse. Those who go to the devil in youth, with 
anything like a fair chance, were probably little worth 
saving from the first ; . . . 

When the old man waggles his head and says, " Ah, 
so I thought when I was your age," he has proved the 
youth's case. Doubtless, whether from growth of expe- 
rience or decline of animal heat, he thinks so no longer ; 
but he thought so while he was young ; and all men 
have thought so while they were young, since there was 
dew in the morning or hawthorn in May ; ... It is as 
natural and as right for a young man to be imprudent 
and exaggerated, to live in swoops and circles, and beat 
about his cage like any other wild thing newly captured, 
as it is for old men to turn gray, or mothers to love 
their offspring, or heroes to die for something worthier 
than their lives. . . . 

The true wisdom is to be always seasonable, and to 
change with a good grace in changing circumstances. 
To love playthings well as a child, to lead an adventur- 
ous and honourable youth, and to settle when the time 
arrives, into a green and smiling old age, is to be a 
good artist in life and deserve well of yourself and your 
neighbour. 

From " Crabbed Age and Youth." 






^^^^^^^m^^^mB 






Izaak Walton 



1593-1683 

A linen-draper of London, AValton, having gained a sufficient 
competency for his modest desires, retired from business at the 
age of fifty, and by his atti-active disposition, his inteUigence, and 
his refined tastes, acquired and kept the friendship of many noted 
men, largely among the clergy. His first literary attempt was a 
"Life of Dr. John Donne" in 1640, which won so much praise 
that he was encouraged to follow it with biographies of Sir Henry 
Wotton, Richard Hooker, George Herbert, the poet, and Robert 
Sandei'son — all eminent clergymen and intimate friends ; and 
" Walton's Lives " has ever held high fame. His most widely 
known book, however, is the delightful treatise on his cherished 
recreation, the art of fishing — "The Complete Angler'' — the 
first edition of which appeared in 1653. It is a book of genuine 
skilled information on its subject, but also full of gentle phi- 
losophy, sweet contemplation, kindly wit, and serious thought : a 
perennial classic, which has been printed and reprinted in many 
editions — fine and plain, expensive and cheap, for table, for 
library, and for pocket. 



THE ANGLER TO THE HUNTER AND THE 
FALCONER 



P 



^ISCATOR. You know, Gentlemen, 't is an easy 
thing to scoff at any art or recreation : a little 
wit, mixed with ill-nature, confidence and malice 
will do it. . . . And for you that have heard 
many grave, serious men pity Anglers, let me tell you, Sir, 
there be many men that are by others taken to be serious 

18 



S) 



^ 



G> 



IZAAK WALTON 

and grave men, which we contemn and pity. Men that 
are taken to be grave, because nature hath made them of 
a sour complexion, money-getting men; men that spend 
all their time, first in getting, and next in anxious care 
to keep it ; men that are condemned to be rich, and then 
always busy or discontented : for these poor-rich-men, we 
Anglers pity them perfectly and stand in no need to 
borrow their thought to think ourselves so happy. . . . 

In ancient times a debate hath arisen, and it remains 
yet unresolved, whether the happiness of man in this 
world doth consist more in contemplation or action. . . . 
Concerning which two opinions I shall forbear to add a 
third by declaring my own, and rest myself contented 
in telling you, my very worthy friend, that both these 
meet together, and do most properly belong to the 
most honest, ingenuous, quiet, and harmless art of 
Angling. . . . 

An ingenious Spaniard says, that " rivers and the 
inhabitants of the watery element were made for wise 
men to contemplate and fools to pass by without con- 
sideration." And though I will not rank myself in the 
number of the first, yet give me leave to free myself from 
the last, by offering to you a short contemplation, first 
of rivers and then of fish ; concerning which I doubt not 
but to give you many observations that will appear very 
considerable : I am sure they have appeared so to me, 
and made many an hour pass away more pleasantly, as I 
have sat quietly on a flowery bank by a calm river, and 
contemplated what I shall now relate to you. 



(^ From " The Complete Angler." 






John Milton 



1608-1674 



After seven years at Cambridge — where he was noted no less 
J for scholarship and literary fineness than for a delicate personal 
beauty — young Milton left college at the age of twenty-four with 
the degree of Master, and for about five years lived with his 
' father in Horton,, Buckinghamshire. Here he produced several 
of his most delightful poems : " Arcades," " Comus," " L' Allegro," 
" II Penseroso," and " Lycidas." In 1637 he set forth upon the 
travels to France and Italy which brought him into relations with 
notable men and enriched his knowledge of languages, literature, 
and art. In 1639 he returned to England a confirmed repub- 
lican, and began a series of political pamphlets on matters of 
church and state ; married unhappily ; issued strong arguments 
concerning divorce ; and in 1644 published his famous " Tractate 
on Education," together with his " Areopagitica, or A Speech 
for the Liberty of Unlicensed Printing," addressed to the Parlia- 
ment in deprecation of a proposed law abridging the freedom of 
the press. In 1648-49 he printed an elaborate justification of the 
trial and execution of Charles I, following it with other argumen- 
tative works, and from 1649 to 1657 he was Cromwell's Secretary 
of State. Zealous in the cause he had espoused, he ruined his 
eyesight in the researches and labours of his Latin " Defense of the 
Englisli People " against Salmasius, who had defended the king, 
and in 1653 became blind. After CromwelPs death in 1658, 
Milton gave out other political treatises. Upon the death of his 
first wife he married again, and in 1664 yet again, his third wife 
surviving him for many years. It was not until 1667 that he 
issued his " Paradise Lost," dictated to his daughters, and in 1671, 
" Paradise Regained." Down to the very year of his death, 
1674, he continued his political and ecclesiastical warfare. Milton 

20 



JOHN MILTON 



presents the peculiar combination of a masterly debater and 
champion in great questions of governmental policy and legisla- 
tion, with a poetical genius ranging from the most delicate fancies, 
exquisite revelations of nature, and abounding stores of historical 
and literary illustration to the sublimely imagined splendours of 
heaven and horrors of hell. He was one of the mightiest, in a 
day of mighty men. 



A FREE PRESS 

METHINKS I see in my mind a noble and 
puissant Nation rousing herself like a strong 
man after sleep, and shaking her invincible ^ 
locks. Methinks I see her as an Eagle mu- o< 
ing [moulting] her mighty youth, and kindling her un- 
dazzled eyes at the full mid-day beam, purging and 
unsealing her long abused sight at the fountain itself of lj 
heavenly radiance, while the whole noise of timorous and ^ 
flocking birds, with those also that love the twilight, 
flutter about, amazed at what she means, and in their 
envious gabble would prognosticate a year of sects and ^ 
schisms. 

What should ye do then, should ye suppress all this 
flowery crop of knowledge and new light, sprung up and 
yet springing daily in this City, should ye set an Oligar- 
chy of twenty engrossers over it, to bring a famine upon 
our minds again, when we shall know nothing but what 
is measured to us by their bushel ? Beheve it. Lords 
and Commons, they who counsel ye to such a suppres- 
sing do as good as bid ye suppress yourselves : and I will 
soon show how. If it be desired to know the immediate 
cause of all this fi-ee writing and free speaking, there 
cannot be assigned a truer than your own mild and free 
and human government : it is the liberty, Lords and 

21 



-3> 



^5s^ 

JOHN MILTON 

Commons, which your own valorous and happy counsels 
have purchased us, liberty which is the nurse of all great 
wits ; this is that which hath rarefied and enlightened our 
spirits like the influence of heaven ; this is that which 
hath enfranchised, enlarged, and lifted up our apprehen- 
sions degrees above themselves. Ye cannot make us 
now less capable, less strong, less eagerly pursuing of the 
truth, unless ye first make yourselves, that made us so, 
less the lovers, less the founders of our true liberty ! 
We can grow ignorant again, brutish, formal, and slav- 
ish, as ye found us : but you then must first become that 
which ye cannot be, oppressive, arbitrary and tyrannous, 
as they were from whom ye have freed us. That our 
hearts are now more capacious, our thoughts more 
erected to the search and expectation of greatest and 
exactest things, is the issue of your own virtue propa- 
gated in us : ye cannot suppress that unless ye reinforce 
an abrogated and merciless law, that fathers may dis- 
patch at will their own children. . . . Give me the liberty 
to know, to utter, and to argue freely according to con- 
science, above all liberties. 

From the " Areopagitica." 



ID 



LIFE IN BOOKS 

Books are not absolutely dead things, but do not 
contain a progeny of life in them to be as active as 
that soul was whose progeny they are. Nay, they do 
preserve, as in a vial, the purest efficacy and extrac- 
tion of that intellect that bred them. I know they are 
as lively and as vigorously productive, as those fabu- 
lous dragon's teeth ; and being sown up and down, may 

22 



JOHN MILTON 



chance to spring up armed men. And yet on the other 
hand, unless wariness be used, as good ahnost kill a 
man as kill a good book. Who kills a man kills a 
reasonable creature — God's image ; but he who kills 
a good book kills reason itself — kills the image of 
God, as it were, in the eye. Many a man lives a 
burden to the earth, but a good book is the precious 
life-blood of a master-spirit, embalmed and treasured 
up on purpose to a life beyond life. It is true no age 
can restore a life whereof, perhaps, there is no great 
loss ; and re^'olutions of ages do not oft recover the loss 
of a rejected truth, for the want of which whole nations 
fare the worse. 

We should be wary, therefore, what persecution we 
raise against the living labours of public men, how we 
spill that seasoned life of man preserved and stored up 
in books, since we see a kind of homicide may be thus 
committed. 



From the " Areopagitica." 



23 



^i^^^^i^^g^ 










Benjamin Franklin 

1706-1790 



Tallow-chandler's apprentice, printer, newspaper-writer, editor, 
publisher, clerk of the Pennsylvania legislature, British Colonial 
Postmaster General, Commissioner in England for the Colonies, 
United States Minister to France, member of the Constitutional 
Convention of 1787 : always a reader, a writer of influence, a sci- 
entist, a man of force in all stations ; loved by the people ; admired 
by the great and wise, honoured by all men, Franklin was perhaps 
the most universally distinguished American ever born. His extra- 
ordinary good sense, his love of wit and humour, his perfectly lucid 
style in writing, gave his ideas entrance everywhere, and, once 
admitted, they sustained themselves. 






WAR AND PEACE 

To Mr. Strahan (King's Printer). — 

Philadelphia, 7 July, 1775. 

MR. STRAHAN:— You are a member of 
Parliament, and one of that majority which 
has doomed my country to destruction. You 
have begun to burn our towns and murder 
our people. Look upon your hands ; they are stained 
with the blood of your relations ! You and I were long 
friends ; you are now my enemy, and I am 

Yours, 

B. FRANKLIPf. 

24 

<r^c?w gw gwgw gw gw «w 







BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 



To Sir Joseph Banks. - 



Passy, 27 July, 1783. 



. . . In vaj o^imon there never was a good war or a had 
peace. What vast additions to the conveniences and 
comforts of living might mankind have acquired, if the 
money spent on wars had been employed in works of 
public utUity ! 



h 
1% 



To Robert Morris. — 



Passy, 5 December, 1783. 




I agree with you perfectly in your disapprobation of 
war. ... I think it wrong in point of human prudence, 
for whatever advantage one nation would obtain from 
another ... it would be much cheaper to purchase 
such advantage with ready money, than to pay the ex- 
pense of acquiring it by war. ... It seems to me that 
if statesmen had a little more arithmetic, or were more 
accustomed to calculations, wars would be much less 
frequent. 

PRIDE OF OPINION 

I confess that I do not entirely approve of this Con- 
stitution at present : but. Sir, I am not sure I shall 
never approve of it ; for, having lived long, I have ex- 
perienced many instances of being obliged, by better 
information and fuller consideration, to change opinions 
even on important subjects which I once thought right, 
but found to be otherwise. . . . Though many private 
persons think almost as highly of their own infallibility 
as that of their [religious] sect, few express it so natu- 
rally as a certain French lady, who in a little dispute 

25 



y 



• • • • _• • ._• ^J* ^* ^* ~* 






(\ BENJAMIN FRANKLIN / \ 

K y-9 with her sister, said : " But I meet with nobody but •. ^» 
k A myself that is always in the right." In these sentiments, L^ \ 
9 9 Sir, 1 agree to this Constitution. ... [I] doubt, too, % 9 
V* 'Y whether any convention we can obtain may be able to >N (-^ 
L \ make a better Constitution. . . . On the whole. Sir, I ^ '^ 
K /-• cannot help expressing a wish that every member of the ^ ^ 
( \ convention who may stiU have objections to it would /j y\ 
% "J with me on this occasion doubt a little of his own infal- %^ '# 
\ /-• libility, and, to make manifest our unanimity, put his name •v^ f\ 
to this instrument. 



K /* 

P 






^ From " Address to the Constitutional Convention." — Sept., 1787. *\/' 

L 1 THE WHISTLE ^/^ 

K c* When I was a child of seven years old my friends ^^ ''v 
£ J on a holiday filled my pocket with coppers. I went frv ^ 
%'9 directly to a shop where they sold toys for children, J ^ 
^> (>. and being charmed with the sound of a whistle that I /^ \ 
L, ^ met by the way in the hands of another boy, I volun- ^ '^ 
^ ^ tarily offered and gave all my money for one. I then *\(* 
/" ^\ came home and went whistling all over the house, £ \ 
^ -J much pleased with my whistle, but disturbing all the • w 
^^ -<l family. My brothers and sisters and cousins, under- y^ <^ 
£ \ standing the bargain I had made, told me I had given t"^ 
^ -y four times as much for it as it was worth, put me in » * 
•v /• mind of what good things I might have bought with / '\ 
i \ the rest of the money, and laughed at me so much for ^ ^ 
m ^ my folly that I cried with vexation ; and the reflec- •» ,* 

,n tion gave me more chagrin than the whistle gave me / ^ 

1 \ pleasure. L '^ 



1 
.1 

„._ ^^ _ „„.--..-i: 

/^'\ pleasure. 

K- -^ This, however, was afterward of use to me, the im- ©^ ^^ 
« ,« pression continuing on my mind, so that often when I 
/ "]| was tempted to buy some unnecessary thing I said to 



/\ BENJAMIN FRANKLIN V\ 

♦^ ^» myself, don't give too much for the whistle : and 1 5 ^ 
£\ saved my money. £^\ 

W 9 As I grew up, came into the world, and observed the ^ ly 
*> f^ actions of men, I thought I met with many, very many, s^ ^» 
A, \ who gave too much for the whistle. ... ^\ 

If 1 knew a miser who gave up any kind of a com- % ' 
/ '\ fortable living, all the pleasure of doing good to others, ^ ^ 
^■^ all the esteem of his fellow-citizens, and the joys ofK^ 
•.^« benevolent friendship for the sake of accumulating J ^ 
i J wealth, poor man, said I, you pay too much for your / V 
\S whistle. \Y$ 

•> ^ When I met with a man of pleasure sacrificing every •\ f* 
i \ laudable improvement of the mind or of his fortune to ^ J| 
%■ "w mere corporal sensations, and ruining his health in their % '^ 
•> r^ pursuit, mistaken man, said I, you are providing pain *y r* 
L \ for yourself instead of pleasure ; you give too much for K A 
WV your whistle. * ^ 

^^ <Y If I s^^ o^^ fond of appearance or fine clothes, fine ^N ^-^ 
^ J houses, fine furniture, fine equipages, all above his t^^ 
J ^ fortune, for which he contracts debts and ends his •, ,♦ 
/^ '\ career in a prison, alas ! say I, he has paid dear for / \ 
^v Jhis whistle. ... t^'J 




•\ /• ffiving too much for their whistles. /^ f\ 



George Washington 



1732-1799 

A magnificent physique, a hot and fearless temper under strong 
control, little schooling, great skill in horsemanship and the use of 
arms, training as a surveyor and practice in the wilderness, associa- 
tion with cultivated people, sensible reading, experience in the 
field as subordinate and as commanding officer in two wars, 
patience, prudence, and timely boldness, — these, added to his 
singularly well-balanced mind and sterling character, were the ^ 
equipment of America's greatest hero. No author, Washington 
is yet represented by publication of his Journals, Official Letters , 
to Congress, Revolutionary Army orders. Diary from 1789 to 1791, 
many private letters, and his State Papers — inaugural addresses, 
messages to Congress, etc., and especially by his Farewell Address 
to the People of the United States. In this last, he declines nom- 
ination for a third term, excusing himself for wishing to retire to 
private life after so many years of public service, and gives much 
affectionate advice to his countrymen. Like the Declaration of 
Independence, this wise Address is one of the treasures of our peo- 
ple, and should be often read, both publicly and privately. 



PARTY SPIRIT 



THERE is an opinion, that parties in free coun- 
tries are useful checks upon the Administration 
of the Government, and serve to keep ahve 
the spirit of Liberty. This within certain 
limits is probably true ; . . . From their natural ten- 
dency, it is certain there will always be enough of that 

28 



GEORGE AVASHINGTON 



spirit for every salutary purpose, — and there being con- 
stant danger of excess, the effort ought to be, by force 
of public opinion, to mitigate and assuage it. — A fire 
not to be quenched ; it demands a uniform vigilance to 
prevent its bursting into flame, lest, instead of warming, 
it should consume. 



THE FEDERAL GOVERNMENT 

It is important, likewise, that the habits of thinking 
in a fi'ee country should inspire caution in those intrusted 
with its administration, to confine themselves within 
their respective constitutional spheres, avoiding in the 
exercise of the powers of one department to encroach 
upon another. ... If, in the opinion of the People, the 
distribution of the modification of the Constitutional 
powers be in any particular wrong, let it be corrected 
by an amendment, in the way which the Constitution 
designates. — But let there be no change by usurpation ; 
for though this, in one instance, may be the instrument 
of good, it is the customary weapon by which free 
governments are destroyed. 



EDUCATION 

Promote, then, as an object of primary importance, 
institutions for the general diffusion of knowledge. In 
proportion as the structure of a government gives force 
to public opinion, it is essential that public opinion 
should be enlightened. 

From "Farewell Address to the People of the United States." 

29 






Edward Everett 



1794-1865 



This finished scholar and elegant orator worthily filled many 
stations. Tutor at Harvard, he became pastor of old Brattle 
Street Church in Boston ; the Professor of Gi-eek at tiarvard ; ten 
years a Congressman ; Governor of Massachusetts ; United States 
Minister to Great Britain ; President of Harvard ; Secretary of 
State under President Fillmore ; Union candidate for the Vice- 
Presidency in 1860 (with John Bell, of Tennessee); and through- 
out the Civil War an earnest patriot, devoting himself in many 
speeches to the Union cause. He was the friend and biographer 
of Daniel Webster, and edited the great statesman's works. 
Everett was noted as an orator for special occasions, and his 
addresses and lectures were always enthusiastically received, tlis 
most notable deliverance, on " The Character of Washington," he 
repeated nearly a hundred and fifty times, in various places, the 
pecuniary returns being given by him towards the purchase of 
Washington's home, Mount Vernon, as a national property, — 
this, with $10,000 received for articles in the New York Ledger, 
amounting to $100,000 contributed by him to that patriotic 
service. 






EDWARD EVERETT 



23 



WASHINGTON 

OMMON sense was eminently a characteristic 
of Washington ; so called, not because it is so 
very common a trait of character of public men, 
but because it is the final judgment on great 

5) practical questions to which the mind of the community 
is pretty sure eventually to arrive. Few qualities of 
character in those who influence the fortunes of nations 

y^ are so conducive both to stability and progress. But it 

^ is a quality which takes no hold of the imagination ; 
it inspires no enthusiasm ; it wins no favour ; it is well if 
it can stand its ground against the plausible absurdities, 

v» the hollow pretences, the stupendous impostures of the 

-*'day. ... 

To complain of the character of Washington that it is 
destitute of brilliant qualities, is to complain of a circle 

^ that it has no salient points and no sharp angles in its 
circumference ; forgetting that it owes all its wonderful 
properties to the unbroken curve of which every point 
is equidistant from the centre. Instead, therefore, of 

^ being a mark of inferiority, this sublime adjustment of 
powers and virtues in the character of Washington is 
in reality its glory. It is this which chiefly puts him in 
harmony with more than human greatness. The higher 
we rise in the scale of being, — material, intellectual, 
and moral, — the more certainly we quit the region of 
the brilliant eccentricities and dazzling- contrasts which 



ja 



belong 



to a vulgar 



greatness. 

31 



Order and proportion 




EDWARD EVERETT 



characterise the primordial constitution of the terrestrial 
system ; ineffable harmony rules the heavens. All the 
great eternal forces act in solemn silence. The brawling 
torrent that dries up in summer deafens you Avith its 
roaring whirlpools in March ; while the vast earth on 
which we dwell, with all its oceans and all its continents 
and its thousand millions of inhabitants, revolves unheard 
upon its soft axle at the rate of a thousand miles an 
hour, and rushes noiselessly on its orbit a million and a 
half miles a day. . . . 
lySJ I believe, as I do in my existence, that it was an 
\J/F^ important part in the design of Providence in raising 
Vn ^^.shington up to be the leader of the Revolutionary 
'vrj struggle, and afterwards the first President of the United 
/.-v. States, to rebuke prosperous ambition and successful 
IMi* intrigue ; to set before the people of America, in the 
^1 morning of their national existence, a living example to 
prove that armies may be best conducted, and govern- 
ments most ably and honourably administered, by men 
of sound moral principle ; to teach to gifted and aspiring 
individuals and the parties they lead, that, though a 
hundred crooked paths may conduct to a temporary 
success, the one plain and straight path of public and 
private virtue can alone lead to a pure and lasting fame 
and the blessings of posterity. 



i 



I 



From " Address on the Character of Washington." 



,32 



i 



EDWARD EVERETT 



THE PILGRIM FATHERS 

Methinks I see it now, that one solitary, adventurous 
vessel, the JNIayflower of a forlorn hope, freighted with 
the prospects of a future state, and bound across the 
unknown sea. I behold it pursuing with a thousand 
misgivings, the uncertain, the tedious voyage. Suns 
rise and set, and weeks and months pass, and winter 
surprises them on the deep, but brings them not the 
sight of the wished for shore. I see them now scantily 
supplied with provisions, crowded almost to suffocation 
in their ill-stored prison, delayed by calms, pursuing a 
circuitous route ; and now driven in fury before the 
raging tempest on the high and giddy waves. ... I 
see them, escaped from these perils, pursuing their all 
but desperate undertaking, and landed at last, after 
five months' passage, on the ice-clad rocks of Plymouth. 
. . . Shut now the volume of history, and tell me, on 
any principle of human probability, what shall be the 
fate of this handful of adventurers ? Tell me, man of 
military science, in how many months were tliey all 
swept off by the thirty savage tribes enumerated within 
the early limits of New England ? Tell me, politician, 
how long did this shadow of a colony, on which your 
conventions and treaties had not smiled, languish on 
the distant coasts ? ... Is it possible that from a begin- 
ning so feeble, so frail, so worthy not of admiration as 
of pity, there has gone forth a progress so steady, a 
growth so wonderful, a reality so important, a promise 
yet to be fulfilled so glorious ? 

From Oration on Forefatlier's Day, Dec. 22, 1824, at Plymouth, Mass. 

33 






To 



Thomas J efferson 

1743-1826 



Fe\? of the Fathers of the Republic were " educated men," in 
the usual sense of that phrase. Jefferson, however, was a graduate 
of William and Mary's College, Williamsburg, Va., and, after five 
years' law study, was admitted to the bar at the age of twenty-four. 
He soon entei-ed politics, was elected to the Virginia House of 
Burgesses, and rapidly became prominent as a Colonial agitator. 
He was sent to the Continental Congress, where, in 1776, as Chair- 
man of the Committee, he drafted the Declaration of Independence ; 
^ then, in Virginia again, he drafted new laws for the new conditions, 
iXv became Governor, returned to Congress, went to Europe as Com- 
mercial Commissioner, and Minister to France. He was Wash- 
ington's first Secretary of State, Vice-President with Adams as 
President, and became President in 1800. He effected the pur- 
^^ chase of the vast Louisiana territory from the French, was a strong 
~- opponent of slavery, a vigorous advocate of States' Rights under 
the Constitution, and practically the founder of the original Dem- 
ocratic party (at that time called the Republican party). His 
whole life was devoted to the advancement of civil and religious 
liberty. 



DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE 



4 July, 1776 

'E hold these truths to be self-evident ; that 
all men are created equal ; that they are 
endowed by their creator with certain in- 
alienable rights ; that among these are life, 
liberty and the pursuit of happiness ; that to secure 
these rights, governments are instituted among men, 

34 



w 



THOMAS JEFFERSON 



deriving their just powers from the consent of the gov- 
erned ; that, whenever any form of government becomes 
destructive of these ends, it is the right of the people to 
alter or abolish it, and to institute a new government, 
laying its foundations on such principles, and organising 
its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most 
likely to effect their safety and happiness. . . . 

Mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are 
sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the 
forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long 
train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the 
same object, evinces a design to reduce them under 
absolute despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to 
throw off such government, and to provide new guards 
for their security. . . . [Here follow detailed accusations 
against the British king.] 

We, therefore, the representatives of the United 
States of America, in general Congress assembled, ap- 
pealing to the supreme judge of the world for the recti- 
tude of our intentions, do, in the name, and by the 
authority of the good people of these Colonies, solemnly 
publish and declare that these United States are, and of 
right ought to be, free and independent States ; . . . 
And for the support of this declaration, with a firm reli- 
ance on the protection of divine providence, we mutually 
pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes, and our 
sacred honour. 






Daniel Webster 



1782-1852 

Webster's career was that of a great lawyer, a great Congress- 
man, a great Senator, a great orator. He was one of the notable 
advocates of his time, in civil and criminal law. In Congress he 
took foremost part in the discussion of all important topics 
such as the currency, the tariff, the navy, the United States Bank, 
the Greek Revolution, codification of the Federal Criminal Law, 
etc., while, after his election to the Senate in 1827, he was one of 
the great triumvirate, with Clay and Calhoun, who made the Sen- 
ate the forum of splendid and forceful debate on the subject of the 
Union — his passion and his pride. He did more to foster the 
popular love for the Union, which, dui'ing the war that he had so 
feared and deprecated, made the Union perpetual, than any other 
man. On patriotic occasions, among the people, his eloquence was 
truly magnificent. 



^T 



THE UNION 

iHE people have wisely provided, in the Con- 
stitution itself, a proper, suitable mode and 
tribunal for settling questions of Constitutional 
law. . . . The Constitution itself has pointed 
out, ordained, and established that authority. How 
has it accomplished this great and essential end ? By 
declaring, Sir, that ''the Constitution, and the laws of the 
United States made in 'pursuance thereof, shall he the 
supreme laiv of the land, anything in the Constitution or 

S6 



I!fe>c^ 



DANIEL WEBSTER 



laws of any State to the contrary notwithstanding." . . . 
But who shall decide this question of interference ? To 
whom lies the last appeal ? This, Sir, the Constitution 
itself decides also, by declaring, that "the judicial power 
[culminating in the Supreme Court] shall extend to all 
cases arising under the Constitution and laics of the 
United States." These two provisions cover the whole 
ground. They are, in truth, the keystone of the arch I 
With these it is a government; without them it is a 
confederation. . . . 

When my eyes shall be turned to behold for the last 
time the sun in heaven, may I not see him shining on 
the broken and dishonoured fragments of a once glorious 
Union ; on States dissevered, discordant, belhgerent ; 
on a land rent with civil feuds, or drenched, it may be, 
in fraternal blood ! Let their last feeble and lingering 
glance rather behold the gorgeous ensign of the republic, 
now known and honoured throughout the earth, still full 
high advanced, its arms and trophies streaming in their 
original lustre, not a stripe erased or polluted, nor a 
single star obscured, bearing for its motto, no such mis- 
erable interrogatory as " What is all this worth ? " nor 
those other words of delusion and folly, " Liberty first 
and Union afterwards " ; but everywhere, spread all over 
in characters of living light, blazing on all its ample 
folds, as they float over the sea and over the land, and 
in every wind under the whole heavens, that other sen- 
timent, dear to every true American heart, — Liberty 
and Union, now and forever, one and inseparable I 

From "Reply to Senator Hayne, of South Carolina." 



37 



^^ ^^^ ^^1^^ ^ftk^^m^r ^^^^^^mi^r *^^ ^^^M^^ ^^^^^^a^^0lf^ 



pi Dr. Thomas Fuller 

1608-1661 

Quaint old Thomas Fuller was one of the witty divines whose 
gifts of humour were dedicated to high uses. A brilliant scholar 
and popular preacher, he held many prominent positions ; although, 
being a thorough royalist, he lost some of his preferments during the 
Puritan and Parliamentary war, — yet even then he was respectedi 
and allowed to continue certain ministrations. At the Restoration, 
Charles II appointed him chaplain extraordinary to the King, — 
although the King did not follow the counsels his chaplain gave. 
Dr. Fuller's published books were many and notable. " The 
Worthies of England " was his chief work, and is full of historical 
and biographical matter, with much characteristic criticism of the 
times. Coleridge wrote of him : "He was incomparably the most 
sensible, the least prejudiced great man, in an age that boasted of 
a galaxy of great men." 

THE DIVINE GOODNESS 

ORD, I find David making a syllogism, in mood 
and figure, two propositions he perfected. (Psalm 
Ixvi). 
18. If I regard wickedness in my heart, the 
Lord will not hear me. 

19. But verily God hath heard me, he hath attended 
to the voice of my prayer. 

Now I expected that David should have concluded 
thus : 

}k Therefore I regard not wickedness in my heart. 
Q But far otherwise he concludes : 

\ 20. Blessed be God, who hath not turned away my 
^\ prayer, nor his mercy from me. 
1^1 Thus David hath deceived, but not wronged me. I 




^ DR. THOMAS FULLER 

1 looked that he should have clapped the crown on his 
own, and he puts it on God's head. I will learn this 
excellent logic ; for I like David's better than Aristotle's 
. syllogisms, that, whatsoever the premises be, I make 
God's glory the conclusion. 

TO-MORROW, TO-MORROW! 

Great was the abundance and boldness of the frogs 
in Egypt, which went up and came into their bed- 
chambers, and beds, and kneading-troughs, and very 
ovens. Strange that those fen-dwellers should approach 
the fiery region ; but stranger that Pharaoh should be so I 
backward to have them removed ; and being demanded I 
of Moses when he would have them sent away, answered, h. 
To-morrow. He could be content with their company \, 
one night, at bed and at board, loath, belike to acknowl- | 
edge "either God's justice in sending, or power in re- / 
manding them, but still hoping that they casually came, L 
and might casually depart. \ 

Leave I any longer to wonder at Pharaoh, and even I 
admire at myself ; what are my sins but so many toads, ^ 
spitting of venom and spawning of poison ; croaking in K 
my judgment, creeping into my will, and crawling into ^ 
my affections. This I see, and suffer, and say with ( 
Pharaoh, To-morrow, to-morrow I will amend. Thus, A 
as the Hebrew tongue hath no proper present tense, but y 
two future tenses, so all the performances of my refor- j 
mation are only in promises for the time to come, r 
Grant, Lord, that I may seasonably drown this Pharaoh- I 
like procrastination in the sea of repentance, lest it drown t 
me in the pit of perdition. * 

I From " Good Thoughts in Bad Times." • 



• • • • » •• • ♦••^' 



Joseph A ddison 

1672-1719 



Says Dr. Johnson, in an oft-quoted sentence : " Whoever wishes 
to attain an English .style, fan)iliar but not coarse, and elegant but 
not ostentatious, must give his days and nights to the volumes of 
Addison." Certainly, Addison's English is simple, melodious, and 
choice, beside Johnson's full-mouthed elaboration, and quite as 
dignified, yet, except for such study as Johnson advised, it has a 
staid air of propriety which the present day would call "old- 
fashioned," — and perhaps therein lies its vitality and its suita- 
bility for chastening the style of our restless writers. Addison's 
scholarly precocity in youth, his early acquaintance with Dryden 
and other litei-ary men, his social position, which drew him into 
political life after some years of travel, his official dignity — as 
secretary to the lord-lieutenant of Ireland and afterwards as Secre- 
tary of State — -gave him both stimulus and leisure, and he wrote 
poems, dramas, and, above all, essays or articles, — first in " The 
Tatler," founded by his friend Richard Steele, and then in " The 
Spectator," which owed to him its chief attractiveness and success. 
His clear-eyed criticisms of the follies and approbation of the vir- 
tues of his day were set forth with a delicate wit, a moral force, 
and an elegance of expression that will never lose the power to 
interest and charm. 




3. 



JOSEPH ADDISON 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY 




'HEN I am in a serious humour I very often 
walk by myself in Westminster Abbey ; 
where the gloominess of the place, and the 
use to which it is applied, with the solemnity 
of the building, and the condition of the people who lie 
in it, are apt to fill the mind with a kind of melancholy, 
or rather thoughtfulness, that is not disagreeable. I 
yesterday passed a whole afternoon in the churchyard, 
the cloisters, and the church, amusing myself with the 
tombstones and inscriptions that I met with in those 
several regions of the dead. IMost of them recorded 
nothing else of the buried person but that he was born 
upon one day, and died upon another ; the whole his- 
tory of his life being comprehended in those two circum- 
stances that are common to all mankind. I could not 
but look upon these registers of existence, whether of 
brass or marble, as a kind of satire upon the departed 
persons ; who had left no other memorial of them but 
that they were born and that they died. They put me 
in mind of several persons mentioned in the battles of 
heroic poems, who have sounding names given them, 
for no other reason but that they may be killed, and are 
celebrated for nothing but being knocked on the 
head. . . . 

I have left the repository of our English kings for 
the contemplation of another day, when I shall find my 

41 



■ Cl^g^ G^ G>1^G^ G-L <S^gW G^ <rL G^ C-Yn 



/\ JOSEPH ADDISON /^''v 

#,, ^» mind disposed for so serious an amusement, I know J ^ 
/ '\ that entertainments of this nature are apt to raise dark A \ 
V v and dismal thoughts in timorous minds and gloomy im- ^^ ly 
*> f^ aginations ; but for my own part, though I am always •^ ,* 
jL ^ serious, I do not know what it is to be melancholy ; and ^ Jk 
J ^ can, therefore, take a view of nature in her deep and % ^ 
Z' \ solemn scenes with the same pleasure as in her most t's f^ 
^ w §^y ^^^ delightful ones. By this means I can improve ^ rw 
•v^« myself with those objects which others consider with » ^ 
I J terror. When I look upon the tombs of the great, /J \ 
%■ W every emotion of envy dies in me ; when I read the V V 
•% f<* epitaphs of the beautiful, every inordinate desire goes *^ ^* 
£\ out; when I meet with the grief of parents upon a ^ \ 
W w tombstone, my heart melts with compassion ; when I * ^ 
♦> ^ see the tomb of the parents themselves, I consider the •n <* 
£ \ vanity of grieving for those whom we must quickly R ^ 
w <r follow. When I see kings lying by those who deposed J ^ 
y-"N fV them, when I consider rival wits placed side by side, or J\ ^\ 
L, ^ the holy men that divided the world with their contests ^ -^ 
^ ^ and disputes, I reflect with sorrow and astonishment on • » 
/'^ the little competitions, factions, and debates of man- / \ 
»> J kind. When I read the several dates of the tombs, of ^ "^ 
»^ ^« some that died yesterday, and some six hundred years *\ r^ 
/ V ago, I consider that great day when we shall all of us be |L ^ 
^ -jr contemporaries, and make our appearance together. J ^ 

o /Y> 

From The Spectator. 



\r 



/N'^v SIMPLICITY IN WRITING K J 

^ # When I travelled I took a particular delight in •\^* 
*/^ ''v hearing the songs and fables that are come from father i \ 
4^ J to son, and are most in vogue among the common \ '^ 



,N<f 



M>* 



/\ JOSEPH ADDISON ^\ 

•>, ^» people of the countries through which I passed ; for ^ # 

£, \ it is impossible that anything should be universally ^ \ 

% w tasted and approved by a multitude, though they are ^^ ■# 

y '^ '^'^^y the rabble of a nation, which hath not in it some •^ <■• 

A, Jm peculiar aptness to please and gratify the mind of man. K A 

J^ ^ Human nature is the same in all reasonable creatures ; J* * 

/ \ and whatever falls in with it will meet with admirers £^ (^ 

^ "§ amongst readers of all qualities and conditions. Moliere, r" •y 

•v >-.• as we are told bv Monsieur Boileau. used to read all his •. .* 



V >-• as we are told by Monsieur Boileau, used to read all his •. >i 
■ J comedies to an old woman who was his housekeeper, as /^ J* 
%- w she sat with him at her work by the chimney-corner, % ^ 
•> f^ and could foretell the success of his play in the theatre y\ (T 
I \ fi'om the reception it met at his fireside ; for he tells us fs A 
^ w the audience always followed the old woman, and never * ^ 
•> r-l^ failed to laugh in the same place. J^ <v 

L, J I know nothing which more shows the essential and K, ^ 
'i ^ inherent perfection of simplicity of thought, above that J ^ 
^ fV which I call the Gothic manner in writing, than this, /" \ 
L, ^ that the first pleases all kinds of palates, and the latter ff^ '^ 
? ^ only such as have formed to themselves a wrong arti- •n /• 
/^ 'X ficial taste upon little fanciful authors and writers of / \ 
V "W epigram. Homer, Virgil, or Milton, so far as the Ian- % w 
#^ ^ guage of their poems is understood, will please a reader ^>^ i^ 
/ \ of plain common sense, who would neither relish nor com- |L .A 
%* -y prehend an epigram of Martial, or a poem of Cowley ; J ^ 
•v ^* so, on the contrary, an ordinary song or ballad that is / '\ 
i \ the delight of the common people cannot fail to please v^ 'J 
^ ^ all such readers as are not unqualified for the entertain- ». m 
•. ^« ment by their affectation of ignorance ; and the reason / \ 
( \ ^^ plain, because the same paintings of nature which ^ ^ 
K" ^ recommend it to the most ordinary reader will appear J ^ 
«. ,« beautiful to the most refined. / \ 

^ J From The Spectator. % '# 

'"P 43 • • 



John Ruskin 



I 



1819-1900 



" At his worst," said one of the English reviews, " Mr. Rusl<in 
is a better writer than most men ; at his best, he is incomparable. 
He has a magnificent vocabulary, a perfect and unerring sense of 
expression, a wonderful instinct of rhythm. . . . There are few 
manners in literature at once so affluent and so varied, so copious 
and so subtle, so capable and so full of refinement." For many 
years Slade Professor of Art in Oxford University, which position 
he finally resigned in 1855, he had already in 1843 startled the 
artistic world with the early volumes of his masterly work on 
"Modern Painters," which was completed only in 1860. From the 
beginning he was a revelatory reformer, and aroused men to think- 
ing. He continued studious travel, and wrote many notable books 
on architecture, painting, drawing, etc., all splendidly aggressive, 
and often by their very intolerance (he was a master of invec- 
tive) they stung critics and ai-tists to discussion and effort. In his 
later years he gave much attention to economic, industrial, and 
social topics, and his works are "Legion," — all worthy of careful 
study. 



JOHN RUSKIN 



ST. MARK'S CATHEDRAL 



I 



"N the midst of it [the Piazza, or great Square] as we 
advance slowly, the vast tower of St. Mark seems 
to lift itself visibly forth from the level field of 
chequered stones ; and, on each side, the countless 
arches prolong themselves into ranged syinmetry. . . . 

Beyond those troops of ordered arches there rises a 
vision out of the earth, and all the great square seems to 
have opened from it in a kind of awe, that we may see it 
far away ; — a multitude of pillars and white domes, clus- 
tered into a long low pyramid of coloured liglit ; a treas- 
ure-heap, it seems, partly of gold, and partly of opal 
and mother-of-pearl, hollowed beneath into five great 
vaulted porches, ceiled with fair mosaic, and beset with 
sculpture of alabaster, clear as amber and delicate as 
ivory, — sculpture fantastic and involved, of palm leaves 
and lilies, and gi'apes and pomegi'anates, and birds cling- 
ing and fluttering among the branches, all twined to- 
gether into an endless network of buds and plumes ; 
and, in the midst of it, the solemn forms of angels, 
sceptred, and robed to the feet, and leaning to each 
other across the gates, their figures indistinct among the 
gleaming of the golden ground through the leaves beside 
them, interrupted and dim, like the morning light as it 
faded back among the branches of Eden, when first its 
gates were angel-guarded long ago. And round the 
walls of the porches there are set pillars of variegated 
stones, jasper and porphyry, and deep-green serpentine 

45 




JOHN RUSKIN 

spotted with flakes of snow, and inarbles, that half re- 
fuse and half yield to the sunshine, Cleopatra-like, 
" their bluest veins to kiss " — the shadow, as it steals 
/O back from them, revealing line after line of undulation, 
as a receding tide leaves the waved sand ; their capitals 
rich with interwoven tracery, rooted knots of herbage, 
and drifting leaves of acanthus and vine, and mystical 
signs, all beginning and ending in the Cross ; and above 
them, in the broad archivolts, a continuous chain of 
language and of life — angels, and the signs of heaven, 
and the labours of men, each in its appointed season upon 
the earth ; and above these, another range of glittering 
pinnacles, mixed with white arches edged with scarlet 
flowers, — a confusion of delight, amidst which the 

^75 breasts of the Greek horses are seen blazing in their 
breadth of golden strength, and the St. Mark's Lion, 
lifted on a blue field covered with stars, until at last, as 
if in ecstasy, the crests of the arches break into a marble , 
foam, and toss themselves far into the blue sky in flashes 
and wreaths of sculptured spray, as if the breakers on 
the Lido shore had been frost-bound before they fell, 

^ and the sea-nymphs had inlaid them with coral and 

. (^ amethyst. 

Between that grim cathedral of England [previously 
described, for contrast] and this, what an interval ! 
There is a type of it in the very birds that haunt them ; 
for, instead of the restless crowd, hoarse-voiced and 



JK> 



ja 



sable-winged, drifting on the bleak upper air, the St. 
Mark's porches are full of doves, that nestle among the 
marble foliage and mingle the soft iridescence of their 
living plumes, changing at every motion, with the tints, 
hardly less lovely, that have stood unchanged for seven 
hundred years. ... 

46 



JOHN RUSKIN 

Through the heavy door whose bronze network closes 
the place of his rest [the Baptistery, burial-place of the 
I Doge Andrea Dandolo], let us enter the church itself. 
It is lost in the still deeper twilight to which the eye • 
must be accustomed for some moments before the form 
of the building can be traced ; and then there opens 
before us a vast cave, hewn out into the form of a cross, 
and divided into shadowy aisles by many pillars. Round 
the domes of its roof the light enters only through 
narrow apertures like large stars ; and here and there a 
ray or two from some far-away casement wanders into 
the darkness, and casts a narrow phosphoric stream 
upon the waves of marble that heave and fall in a thou- 
sand colours along the floor. What else there is of light 
is from torches, or silver lamps, burning ceaselessly in 
the recesses of the chapels ; the roof sheeted with gold, 
and the polished walls covered with alabaster, give back 
at every curve and angle some feeble gleaming of the 
flames; and the glories round the heads of the sculptured 
saints flash out upon us as we pass them, and sink again 
into the gloom. 

From "The Stones of Venice." 



<^ 



---- 47 



W 

IVashington Irving' 

1783-1859 

Trained to the law, young Irving found in poor health the free- 
dom for European travel. His native tastes for literature and art 
thus stimulated, he returned after three 3'ears and began writing 
magazine articles and, in 1809, brought out his noted " Knicker- 
bockei-'s History of New York," which offended many of the worthy 
Dutch families by its humorous pictures of their ancestors. He 
visited Europe again, enjoyed the friendship of Scott, the poet 
Campbell, and others, wrote and published over there " The Sketch 
Book," " Bracebridge Hall," and other books, and in 1823 went 
to Spain, where he gathered material for his " Life of Columbus," 
" The Conquest of Granada," " The Alhambra," and further His- 
pano-Moorish works. He continued writing and publishing his 
" Life of Goldsmith " and " Life of Washington," taking high rank, 
while all his books achieved a wide popularity from the attractive 
elegance of his style and the charm of a cultivated spirit which 
adorned the accuracy of his patiently accumulated material. He 
was the eai-liest of the " Knickerbocker Group " of writers in New 
York, his humorously imagined old Diedrich Knickei'bocker, the 
" historian," having furnished the sobriquet that came to desig- 
nate the older and better grade of dwellers in Manhattan. 



48 



i 



WASHINGTON IRVING 



THE PALACE OF THE MOORS 

THE peculiar charm of this old dreamy palace 
is its power of calling up vague reveries and 
picturings of the past, and thus clothing naked 
realities with the illusions of the memory and 
the imagination. As I delight to walk in these " vain 
shadows," I am prone to seek those parts of the Alham- 
bra which are most favourable to this phantasmagoria of 
the mind ; and none are more so than the Court of Lions 
and its surrounding halls. Here the hand of time has 
fallen the lightest, and the traces of Moorish elegance 
and splendour exist in almost their original brilliancy. 
Earthquakes ha^e shaken the foundations of this pile, 
and rent its rudest towers, yet see — not one of those 
slender columns has been displaced ; not an arch of that 
light and fragile colonnade has given way ; and all the 
fairy fretwork of these domes, apparently as unsubstan- 
tial as the crystal fabrics of a morning's frost, yet exist 
after the lapse of centuries, almost as fresh as if from 
the hand of the Moslem artist. 

I write in the midst of these mementoes of the past, 
in the fresh hour of early morning, in the fated hall 
of the Abencerrages. The blood-stained fountain, the 
legendary monument of their massacre, is before me ; 
the lofty jet almost casts its dew upon my paper. How 
difficult to reconcile the ancient tale of violence and 
blood with the gentle and peaceful scene around. 
Everything here appears calculated to inspire kind and 

4 49 



WASHINGTON IRVING 



HSR happy feelings, for everything is delicate and beautiful. ^ 

Cuh The very light falls tenderly fi-om above through the ^ 

fjKi lantern of a dome tinted and wi'ought as if by fairy t4 

IDp hands. Through the ample and fretted arch of the iv 

^jfL portal I behold the Court of Lions, with brilliant sun- ^ 

(tljL shine gleaming along its colonnades and sparkling in its ^ 

ffK^ fountains. The lively swallow dives into the court, and jU 

■bW' then, surging upwards, darts away twittering over the \r 

JKl roof; the busy bee toils humming among the flower- X| 

jgw beds, and painted butterflies hover from plant to plant, g^ 

(fy ;^ and flutter up and sport with each other in the sunny M 

ySk air. It needs but a slight exertion of the fancy to pic- fp 

C^jY ture some pensive beauty of the harem, loitering in ^L 

fO^ these secluded haunts of Oriental luxury. %| 

(no He however who would behold this scene, under an Cj 

'Oj aspect more in unison with its fortunes, let him come fU 

C^j), when the shadows of evening temper the brightness of iF 

MSr the court, and throw a gloom into the surrounding V 

ir»^ halls ; then nothing can be more serenely melancholy, (^ 

^§fL or more in harmony with the tale of departed grandeur, tt 

SOL At such times I am apt to seek the Hall of Justice, IP 

nW , whose deep shadowy arcades extend across the upper ^ 

LL^ end of the court. Here were performed, in presence Cj 

WC of Ferdinand and Isabella and their triumphant court, ^ 

WIA the pompous ceremonies of high mass on taking pos- /7 

JBT' session of the Alhambra. The very ci'oss is still to be ^ 

'Cw seen upon the wall where the altar was erected, and ^ 

^O^ where officiated the grand cardinal of Spain and others ^ 

C >V/. of tlie highest religious dignitaries of the land. T/J 

WOr I picture to myself the scene when this place was jm 

IlJ^ filled with the conquering host, — the mixture of mi- ^ 

^K tred prelate, and shorn monk, and steel-clad knight, ^ 

^*lllf and silken courtier ; when crosses and crosiers and reli- H 

for so l£ 



l!> 



WASHINGTON IRVING 



gious standards were mingled Avith proud armorial en- ^ 
signs and the banners of the haughty chiefs of Spain, ^ 
and flaunted in triumph through these Moslem halls. I 
picture to myself Columbus, the future discoverer of a 
world, taking his modest stand in a remote corner, the 
humble and neglected spectator of the pageant. I see 
in imagination the Catholic sovereigns prostrating them- 
selves before the altar and pouring forth thanks for their 
victory, while the vaults resound with sacred minstrelsy 
and the deep-toned Te Deum. 

The transient illusion is over ; the pageant melts from 
the fancy ; monarch, priest, and warrior return into ob- 
livion with the poor Sloslems over whom they exulted. 
The hall of their triumph is waste and desolate. The 
b^t flits about its twilight vaults, and the owl hoots from 
the neighbouring tower of Comares. 

From " Tlie Alhambra." 






I Thomas Carlyle 

1795-1881 

This Scottish literary giant was one of the most extraordinary 
characters and astonishing writers of tiie nineteenth century. Early 
a reader of avidity, with unusual memory and grasp of what he 
read, he began his literarj^ life with articles for an Encyclopedia, 
issued a translation of Legendre^s " Geometry " with a profound 
mathematical introduction, and in 1823 entered upon his mission 
of opening German literature to his countrymen with a " Life of 
Schiller.'" This was soon followed by translations of Goethe's 
" Wilhelm Meister " and other German works. He was a volumi- 
nous magazine writer, showing a power of vivid biographical and ■ 
critical ability. His " Sartor Resartus ■" (The Tailor Patched, or 
Done Over) is a strange medley of philosophy, personal pathos, 
grim humour, and pungent sense. His " French Revolution " is a 
masterpiece of descriptive and historical power. His "Life of, 
Cromwell " and " Life of Frederick the Great " are classic authori- 
ties, despite his open worship of " the man who can." His " Latter , 
Day Pamphlets " are railings at the vices and follies of the day. 
Carlyle was a prose poet, a hater of shams, a violent reformer, of a 
strange, crabbed disposition, with much tender feeling at heart. 
As a genius he stands among the highest of his time. 



^5:^:*>— ste^-*^^ 









THOMAS CARLYLE 



BIOGRAPHY IN LITERATURE 




'AN'S sociality of nature evinces itself, in 
spite of all that can be said, with abundant 
evidence by this one fact, vv^ere there no 
other ; the unspeakable delight he takes in 
Biography. It is written, " The proper study of man- 
t kind is man " ; to which study, let us candidly admit, 
he, by true or by false methods, applies himself, nothing 
^jf loath. "Man is perennially interesting to man; nay, 
if we look strictly to it, there is nothing else interesting." 
How inexpressibly comfortable to know our fellow crea- 
^^ture ; to see into him, understand his goings forth, de- 
W cipher the whole heart of his mystery ; nay, not only to 
i see into him, but even to see out of him, to view the 
world altogether as he views it ; so that we can theoret- 
ic ically construe him, and could almost practically person- 
^ ate him ; and do now thoroughly discern both what 
I manner of man he is, and what manner of thing he has 
got to work on and live on ! . . . 
ft Observe, accordingly, to what extent, in the actual 
1^ course of things, this business of Biography is practised 
, and relished. Define to thyself, judicious Reader, the 
real significance of these phenomena, named Gossip, 
Egoism, Personal Narrative (miraculous or not). Scandal, 
Raillery, Slander, and such like ; the sum-total of which 
(with some fractional addition of a better ingredient, 
generally too small to be noticeable) constitutes that 
other grand phenomenon still called " Conversation." 
f» Do they not mean wholly : Biography and Autobi- 
* ography ? Not only in the common speech of men ; 
but in all Art too, which is or should be the con- 

53 



THOMAS CARLYLE 



centrated and conserved essence of what men can 
speak and show, Biography is almost the one thing 
needful. . . . 

Still more decisively, still more exclusively does the 
Biographic interest manifest itself, as we descend into 
lower regions of spiritual communication ; through the 
whole range of what is called Literature. Of history, 
for example, the most honoured if not honourable species 
of composition, is not the whole purport Biographic ? 
" History," it has been said, " is the essence of innumer- 
able Biographies." Such, at least, it should be : whether 
it is, might admit of question. But, in any case, what 
hope have we in turning over those old interminable 
Chronicles, with their garrulities and insipidities ; or 
still worse in patiently examining those modern Nar- 
rations, of the Philosophic kind, where " Philosophy, 
( teaching by Experience," has to sit like owl on house- 
top, seeing nothing, understanding nothing, uttering 
only, with solemnity enough, her perpetual, most weari- 
some hoo-hoo ; what hope have we, except the for the 
most part fallacious one of gaining some acquaintance 
with our fellow-creatures, though dead and vanished, 
yet dear to us ; how they got along in those old days, 
suffering and doing; to what extent, and under what 
circumstances, they resisted the Devil and triumphed 
over him, or struck their colours to him, and were 
trodden underfoot by him ; how, in short, the perennial 
Battle went which men name Life, which we also, in 
th€se new days, with indifferent fortune, have to fight, 
and must bequeath to our sons and grandsons to go on 
fighting, till the Enemy one day be quite vanquished 
and abolished, or else the great Night sink and part the 
combatants ; and thus, either by some Millennium, or 

54. 



THOMAS CARLYLE 



some new Noah's Deluge, the Volume of Universal 
History wind itself up ! . . . 

Again, consider the whole class of Fictitious Narra- 
tives ; from the highest category of epic or dramatic 
Poetry, in Shakespeare and Homer, down to the lowest 
of froth Prose in the Fashionable Novel. What are all 
these but so many mimic Biographies ? Attempts, here 
by an inspired Speaker, there by an uninspired Babbler, 
to deliver himself, more or less ineffectually, of the 
grand secret wherewith all hearts labour oppressed : 
The significance of Man's Life ; . . . 

Considering the multitude of mortals that handle the 
Pen in these days, and can mostly spell, and write with- 
out glaring violations of grammar, the question natu- 
rally arises : How is it, then, that no Work proceeds 
from them, bearing any stamp of authenticity and per- 
manence ; of worth for more than one day ? Shiploads 
of Fashionable Novels, Sentimental Rhymes, Tragedies, 
Farces, Diaries of Travel, Tales by flood and field are 
swallowed monthly into this bottomless Pool : still 
does the Press toil ; innumerable Paper-makers, Com- 
positors, Printer's Devils, Book-binders and Hawkers 
grown hoarse with loud proclaiming, rest not fi'om their 
labour ; and still in torrents rushes on the great array of 
Publications, unpausing, to their final home ; and still 
Oblivion, like the Grave, cries, Give ! Give ! How is it, 
that of aU these countless multitudes, no one can attain 
to the smallest mark of excellence, or produce aught 
that shall endure longer than "snowflake on the river," 
or the foam of penny beer ? We answer : Because they 
are foam ; because there is no Reality in them. 



From " Essay on Biography." 



55 



^^^^^g^^g^ 




Ralph Waldo Emerson 

1803-1882 



Matthew Arnold likens Emerson to Marcus Aurelius, as " the 
friend and aider of those who would live in the spirit." Eminently 
philosophical, the Sage of Concord offers no system ; a seer among 
the things of nature and of man — individually and socially — he 
discourses somewhat mystically, but always with sanity and inevi- 
table good sense ; a native and lofty poet, but with little art of 
form, he yet in his prose compels admiration for his supreme apt- 
ness in the use of words, his striking terseness of phrase, and his 
clear solid thinking. He was descended from a long line of clergy- 
men, and in his early career ministered from the pulpit. But 
quitting that service from conscientious reasons, he travelled, 
studied, delivered lectures, wrote essays and books — all bearing 
the didactic flavour of being addressed to an audience — and rose 
steadily to a place of high influence in litei-ature, as a noble teacher 
and a leader of rare inspiration. 



PLATO: OR THE PHILOSOPHER 

AMONG books, Plato only is entitled to Omar's 
fanatical compliment to the Koran, when he 
said, " Burn the libraries ; for their value is in 
this book." These sentences contain the cul- 
ture of nations ; these are the corner-stone of schools ; 
these are the fountain-head of literatures. A discipline 
it is in logic, arithmetic, taste, symmetry, poetry, lan- 
guage, rhetoric, ontology, morals, or practical wisdom. 
There was never such a range of speculation. Out of 

56 



• • • 



• » • • 



• • • 



Ojr G-^ of' cJ^ cJ' C-^ 
• • ♦ • ^ ^ 




RALPH WALDO EMERSON 

Plato come all things that are still wi'itten and debated 
among men of thought. Great havoc makes he among 
our originalities. We have reached the mountain from 
which all these drift boulders vv-ere detached. . . , 

The writings of Plato have preoccupied every school 
of learning, every lover of thought, every church, every 
poet, making it impossible to think, on certain levels, 
except through him. He stands between the truth and 
every man's mind, and has almost impressed language, 
and the primary forms of thought, with his name and 
seal. I am struck, in reading him, with the extreme 
modernness of his style and spirit. Here is the germ of 
that Europe we know so well, in its long history of arts 
and arms ; here are all its traits, already discernible in 
the mind of Plato — and in none before him. It has 
spread itself since into a hundred histories, but has 
added no new element. This perpetual modernness is 
the measure of merit in every work of art ; since the 
author of it was not misled by anything short-lived or 
local, but abode by real and abiding traits. How Plato 
came thus to be Europe, and philosophy, and almost 
literature, is the problem for us to solve. . . . 

In Egypt and in Eastern pilgrimages, Plato imbibed 
the idea of one Deity in which all things are absorbed. 
The unity of Asia, and the detail of Europe ; the infini- 
tude of the Asiatic soul, and the defining, result-loving, 
machine-making, surface-seeking, opera-going Europe — 
Plato came to join, and by contact to enhance, the en- 
ergy of each. The excellence of Europe and Asia are 
in his brain. Metaphysics and natural philosophy ex- 
pressed the genius of Europe ; he substructs the religion 
of Asia as the base. 



From " Representative Men." 




• • • • '.^ • .->• -^ -^* ♦ ~* • 






•' 



j.^ The Apocrypha 

9y (<• 300 B. C. — A. D. 



•' 



»' 



I'i 



The word apocrypha means hidden or secret things. It is ap- 
f^ ^\ plied to certain writings, issued during the three centuries between 
the end of the Old Testament and the birth of Christ. The 
authors, although according to a literary fashion of the time some 
,\ ^v of them assumed names of sacred writers — Moses, Solomon, etc. 
— were unknown or " hidden." As the books were not adopted 
into the Hebrew canon their assumed authoi'ship stamped them as 
> ^* not only hidden but spurious ; thus the word apocryphal has come 
/ \to mean also doubtful, or even fictitious. The fourteen books, 
^ -M however, contain much of noble beauty and moral and spiritual 
_ ^ uplift, and they were included in the Septuagint (Greek) and 
/■^ ' \ Vulgate (Latin) translations of the Bible, and all but three of 
L J^ them adopted by the Roman Catholic church into the canon. 
" •*! Protestants have not recognised them ; although the Church of 
y^ ^ England authorises their reading " for example of life and instruc- 



Q 



•' 



tion of manners." There were also a number of apocryphal books 
written in the first and second centuries a. d., purporting to be 
\ f^ Apostolic ; but they are mostly fantastic, and have never been 
/ ladmitted to the canon of any bfranch of the Christian church. 

/'\ DEATH OF THE RIGHTEOUS 

• • A I^jGHTEOUS man, though he die before his 
/^^\ y_% time, shall be at rest. For honourable old 
t- J / %^ age is not that which standeth in length of 
^ ^ time, nor is its measure given by number of 

p\ <1 years, but understanding is grey hairs unto men, and an 
L Junspotted life is ripe old age. Being found well pleas- 
% ^ing unto God he was beloved of him, and while living 
*/^ ^v among sinners he was translated. He was caught away 
^ Jlest wickedness should change his understanding, or 

^ ^ 58 



JW THE APOCRYPHA V^T 

« # guile deceive his soul ; for the bewitching of naughtiness * ^ 
/ f\ bedimmeth the things which are good, and the giddy ^\ ''v 
^ -0 whirl of desire perverteth an innocent mind. Being t> -^ 
•> ^ made perfect in a little while he fulfilled long years : for # ,m 
/ \ his soul was pleasing unto the Lord ; therefore hasted / Jk 
W w he out of the midst of wickedness. ... S 9 

♦,> f^fi They [the wicked] shall say within themselves, repent- •> ^ 
K* "M ^^S' ^^^ ^^^ distress of spirit shall they groan : This was K. A 
J ^ he whom aforetime we had in derision, and made a par- J 
/ y \ able of reproach ; we fools accounted his life madness /^ ^" 



and his end without honour. How was he numbered 



•n ^» among sons of God ? and how is his lot among saints ? •^ /* 
/ \ Verily we went astray from the way of truth ; . . . We £ \ 
^ -M took our fill of the paths of lawlessness and destruction, \ M 
#. . . and what good have riches and vaunting brought •\,'* 
/ \ us ? Those things all passed away as a shadow, and as L \ 
^ -y a message that runneth by ; as a ship passing through % 9 
•>^ /■* the billowy water, whereof, when it is gone by, there is ^> <5 
/ J no trace to be found, neither pathway of its keel in the ^ \ 
\ w billows ; or as when a bird flieth through the air, no ' ^ 
^N f^ token of her passage is found, but the light wind, lashed / '\ 
i \ with the stroke of her pinions, and rent asunder with ^ '^ 
^ ^the violent rush of the moving wings, is passed through, •\^» 
y^'Vand afterwards no sign of her coming is found therein; ij A 
^ Jor as when an arrow is shot at a mark, the air disparted % 9 
7 ^closeth up again immediately, so that men know not ^(-^ 
/^ 'V where it passed through : so we also, as soon as we 

\^" 





[were born, ceased to be ; and of virtue we had no 

sign to shew, but in our wickedness we were utterly 

/N'y consumed. . . . 

But the righteous live forever, and in the Lord is 

'their reward. 
>■« 

From "The Wisdom of Solomon " (The Apocrypha). 

59 



^ ^}a::a:::s:a::^:a:n: ^ 



K Rossiter Worthington Raymond 

1840- 

A mining engineer, after his technical education in Germany, 
Dr. Raymond served in the army during the Civil War. Since 
1864- he has been a consulting engineer of the first rank, was 
United States Commissioner of Mining Statistics for eight years, 
New York State Commissioner of electric subways for Brooklyn 
in 1888, has been lecturer on economic geology in Lafayette Col- 
lege, editor and contributor Engineering and Mining Journal, for 
many years Secretary of the American Institute of Mining En- 
gineers. Dr. Raymond is a facile and forcible speaker with re- 
sources of pathos and humour at command, a Biblical critic, a writer 
of prose and verse in many fields — from children's stories to metal- 
lurgy and mining-law. Both in speaking and writing, he shows 
wide knowledge, keen sense, quick wit, and broad sympathies. 



I 



you 
life! 



CHRISTS VIEW OF DEATH 

N such a sacred hour of sorrow as this there is but 
one voice that can break without marring the si- 
lence of our souls ; the voice of Him who said, 
"I will not leave you comfortless ; I will come to 
— of Him who said, "I am the resurrection and the 
' Much of our keenest anguish and most distract- 
ing doubt is due to the unwise, unnecessary heed we 
give to other voices. We are too apt to forget that on 
this high theme of Death, Jesus Christ is the only 
witness. Philosophers may speculate ; prophets, from 
visions glorious but dim, may foresee and foretell ; apos- 
tles may infer ; poets may dream ; He knows. And over 
against their imperfect utterances, " hard to be under- 
stood," we may set the clear simplicity of Hi 
His testimony. If we once make this comparison, 

60 



ROSSITER WORTHINGTON RAYMOND 



rating 



wholly the utterances of Our Lord from those 
even of His apostles, we shall be surprised to find how 
great is the contrast. The materials for theological 
argument, for dispute, for harassing doubt, for fearful 
dread, for unreasoning grief and despair, are not fur- 
nished by Him. These are distorted images, seen in the 
glass dimly. He saw face to face. ... It may surprise 
us to note, that He habitually treated death with an 
almost contemptuous silence. The burden of His 
mission was life, — the enlargement of its scope, the 
enrichment of its meaning, the illumination of its true 
nature and power. " I am come that they might have 
life, and that they might have it more abundantly." 
And His invariable teaching was, that life is not con- 
fined to the relations of soul and body. . . . 

Nothing is so like the fearless simplicity of Christ in 
His full knowledge as that of little children in what we 
are pleased to call their ignorance. They seem to slip 
gently away from us, and " do not know enough " to be 
afraid. Neither was He afraid, who knew it all. Alas 
for our half-knowledge, if all it can do for us is to make 
us quake and tremble and despair ; build up again the 
barrier which His victorious feet had trodden down : 
forget that life is all and always, and death is nothing ! 
Our children are wiser than we. . . . Thus it is, that 
Christ and the children hold death in least esteem, and, 
in their crossing of that shadow line, illustrate to us 
most beautifully the truth of the life indivisible. . . . 

" In the midst of life we are in death," said some sad 
philosopher. But the message of the Spirit runs not so. 
" In the midst of death we are in life ! " is its perpetual 
tone. 



t 



From a Funeral Address. 



61 






Henry Mills Alden 



1836- 



Mr. Alden is not a man of many books. A graduate of 
Williams College and Andover Theological Seminary, he devoted 
himself for some years to historical pursuits, lectures and books, 
and to general writing; but since 1869 he has been managing 
editor of Harper's Magazine, and in conducting that great 
monthly, with its admii'able " Editor's Study," he has found ample 
scope for work to high ends. In 1890 he publislied anonymously, 
" God in His World : an Interpretation," which well fulfilled 
its sub-title. It is an illuminative history of religious thought, 
a discussion of the coming and influence of Christ, and a delight- 
fully human treatment of the Divine fellowship. A book of 
notable helpfulness. 

JESUS 

'HILE he was with his disciples, our Lord 
had made his abode with them, and they 
were as one household. They had left all 
to follow him. There were others who, like 
Mary and IVlartha and Lazarus, of Bethany, while re- 
taining separate households, fully accepted him as one 
sent from the Father. There was no attempt on his 
part to establish an order. His disciples were not yet 
called Christians ; the name was not yet known in his 
lifetime, nor for many years afterward. They were all 
workmen, and he was often with them as they wTought. 
They were united as brethren, but so little stress is laid 

62 




f_ HENRY MILLS ALDEN 

upon their communism that we should not know — but 
for an incident related in the story of the Last Supper 

— that they had a common purse. Their wants were 
simple, and no special value was attached to material 
possessions ; moreover, the hospitality of many homes, 

— like that at Bethany, — was freely extended to the 
little company. . . . 

The disciples were so much occupied with the spiritual 
truth unfolded to them by the Master that they gave no 
thought to outward forms. This community in no way 
resembled such an organisation as that known to us as 
the church. He was indeed establishing a new society 
upon the basis of a new life, which would have its own 
embodiment. It was because he had perfect faith in the 
divine life that he could leave its embodiment to take 
care of itself. For the same reason that he left no sys- 
tem of ethical teaching for the regulation of the outward 
life, he also showed no solicitude respecting the future 
outward expression of faith in creed or ritual. What 
to the iconoclastic reformer is first was the last to him. 
The life in him was a transforming life ; he was always 
turning water into wine — better wine than had been 
drunken. He always made it clear that old bottles 
could not hold the new wine. But what was old had 
once been new. The truths which he revealed had been 
hidden from the foundation of the world, but tliey were 
as new in their hiding-place as they were in his unfolding. 
Thus in the store-house of the kingdom were treasures 
both old and new. Old things would pass away, but not 
until they were fulfilled — until the newness in them 
reappeared in the heavenly transformation. 

From " God in His World." 







Thomas A Kemp is 



1379-1471 



Amid the many sermons, hytnns, theological treatises, etc., 
which were left behind him by Thomas of Kempen, long sub-prior 
of the Augiistinian Convent of Utrecht, none has made any im- 
pi'ession upon even the religious world except his mystical treatise, 
" On the Imitation of Christ." This, singularly enough, by its 
passionate devotional abandon, seized upon the affections of the 
readers of such literature, and has had no I'ival but the Bible in 
the multitude of its printings, translations into other languages, 
varied versions in single languages, and universal popularity. Its 
authorship has been ascribed to others, but the general critical 
judgment has given it finally to Thomas a Kempis, whose long 
and saintly life certainly was fruitful of a great good to the 
spiritual-minded. 



I 



B 



U 



THE WAY OF THE HOLY CROSS 

, EHOLD ! in the cross all doth consist, and all 

lieth in our dying thereon ; for there is no other , 

way unto life, and unto true inward peace, but the 

way of the holy cross and of daily mortification. 

Go where thou wilt, seek whatsoever thou wilt, thou 

shalt not find a higher way above, nor a safer way below, 

than the way of the holy cross. 

Dispose and order all things according to thy will and 
judgment ; yet thou shalt ever find, that of necessity \Q{\ 
thou must suffer somewhat, either willingly or against VVT 
thy will, and so thou shalt ever find the cross. '^^ 

64 



THOMAS A KEMPIS 



For either thou shalt feel pain in thy body, or in thy 
soul thou shalt suffer tribulation. 

Sometimes thou shalt be forsaken of God, sometimes 
thou shalt be troubled by thy neighbours ; and, what is 
more, oftentinies thou shalt be wearisome to thyself. 

Neither canst thou be delivered or eased by any rem- 
edy or comfort ; but so long as it pleaseth God, thou 
must bear it. 

For God will have thee learn to suffer tribulation 
without comfort ; and that thou subject thyself wholly 
to Him, and by tribulation become more humble. 

No man hath so in his heart a sympathy with the 
passion of Christ as he who hath suffered the like 
himself. 

The cross, therefore, is always ready, and everywhere 
waits for thee. 

Thou canst not escape it whithersoever thou runnest ; 
for wheresoever thou goest, thou earnest thyself with 
thee, and shalt ever find thyself. 

Both above and below, without and within, which way 
soever thou dost turn thee, everywhere of necessity thou 
must hold fast patience, if thou wilt have inward peace, 
and enjoy an everlasting crown. ... < 

If thou look to thyself, thou shalt be able of thyself 
to accomplish nothing of this kind. ' 

But if thou trust in the Lord, strength shaU be given 
thee from heaven, and the world and the flesh shall be 
made subject to thy command. 

From " The Imitation of Christ." 



it 



65 



^^^^^^^^^^^5^^ 



Jesus, Son of Sirach 

I 247-222 B. c— A. D. 

In connection with a former extract, some facts have been given 
concerning the sacred books known as " The Apocrypha " — of 
hidden or spurious authorship. One of these books, however, 
seems to have been put forth in the genuine name of its author. 
The editor, who translated it into Greek from the Hebrew in 
which it was written, announces that it is by his grandfather, 
Jesus, the Son of Sirach, who, " having much given himself to the 
reading of the law and the prophets, and the other books of our 
Fathers, and having gained great familiarity therein, was drawn 
on also himself to write somewhat pertaining to instruction and 
wisdom." He did his work, he says, in Egypt in the time of 
Euergetes,-' the King, and doubtless was one of the many scholars 
who gathered at Alexandria, — a gathering which included many 
Jews. It was here that " The Septuagint " translation of the 
Hebrew Scriptures was made into Greek (named from the tradition 
of its having been done by seventy-two selected scholars), about 
250 B. c. 

" The Wisdom of Jesus, the Son of Sirach," is otherwise known 
as " Ecclesiasticus." It is a notable series of discourses upon the 
art of right living, and the extract below is surely "wisdom," 
whoever its author. 



DANGERS OF THE TONGUE 

'F thou blow a spark, it shall burn ; and if thou spit 

upon it, it shall be quenched : and both these shall 

come out of thy mouth. Curse the whisperer and 

double-tongued ; for he hath destroyed many that 

at peace. A third person's tongue hath shaken 

many, and dispersed them from nation to nation; and 



I 



were 



Ptolemy III, surnamed Euergetes, the Benefactor, reigned b. c. 247-2 






JESUS, SON OF SIRACH 



it hath pulled down strong cities, and overthrown the 
houses of gi'eat men. A third person's tongue hath 
cast out brave women, and deprived them of their 
labours. He that hearkeneth unto it shall not find rest, 
nor shall he dwell quietly. The stroke of a whip mak- 
eth a mark in the flesh ; the stroke of a tongue will 
break bones. Many have fallen by the edge of the 
sword ; yet not so many as they that have fallen because 
of the tongue. Happy is he that is sheltered from it, 
that hath not passed through the wi'ath thereof; that 
hath not drawn its yoke, and hath not been bound with 
its bands. For the yoke thereof is a yoke of iron, and 
the bands thereof are bands of brass. The death thereof 
is an evil death ; and Hades were better than it. It 
shall not have rule over godly men ; and they shall ^not 
be burned in its flame. They that forsake the Lord 
shall fall into it ; and it shall burn among them, and 
shall not be quenched : it shall be sent forth upon them 
as a lion, and as a leopard it shall destroy them. Look 
that thou hedge thy possession about with thorns ; bind 
up thy silver and gold ; and make a balance and a weight 
for thy words ; and make a door and a bar for thy mouth. 
Take heed lest thou slip therein ; lest thou fall before 
one that lieth in wait. 



From " Eeclesiasticus : The Wisdom of Jesus" (The Apociypha). 



Henry Drummond 



1852-1897 

An influential contributor to the world of thought from 
Scotland, Mr. Drummond received his training at Edinburgh and 
Tubingen Universities, and in 1879 became professor of natural W' 
history in the Free Church College of Glasgow. His scientific p^^ 
interests were permeated with a strong religious earnestness ; and 
while his travels and reseai'ches were recoi'ded with striking ac- 
curacy and clearness (as in his " Tropical Africa "), his grasp of 
facts and principles led him to his most famous booic, " Natural ^ 
Law in the Spiritual World." In this, accepting the principal ^ 
laws of nature as presented by the Evolutionists — biogenesis, 
conformity to environment, degeneration, death, etc., — Drummond 
showed a striking correspondence between them and the accepted Wl 
principles of Christianity, claiming the extension of the same laws wj 
from physics to the infinity of metaphysics. His later book, " The 
Ascent of Man," follows the evolution of body, mind, and higher 
spiritual life, in intensely interesting fashion. He summed up his 
ideas of life in a little address to students at Northfield, Mass., ** 
which has become famous, and from which we make an excerpt. ^ 



68 



5P 



HERRY DRUMMOND 



E 



THE SUPREME GOOD 

VERY one has asked himself the great question 
of antiquity as of the modern world : What is 
the summuvi bonum — the supreme good ? You 
have life before you. Once only you can live it. 
What is the noblest object of desire, the supreme gift to 
covet ? 

We have been accustomed to be told that the great- 
est thing in the religious world is Faith. That great 
word has been the keynote for centuries of the popular 
religion ; and we have easily learned to look upon it as 
the greatest thing in the world. \Yell, we are M'rong. 
If we have been told that, we may miss the mark. I 
have taken you, in the chapter which I have just read, 
to Christianity at its source ; and there we have seen, 
"The greatest of these is love." ... 

Paul, in three verses, very short, gives us an amazing 
analysis of what this supreme thing is. 1 ask you to 
look at it. It is a compound thing, he tells us. It is 
like light. As you have seen a man of science take a 
beam of light and pass it through a crystal prism, as you 
have seen it come out on the other side of the prism 
broken up into its component colours, — red, and blue, 
and yellow, and violet, and orange, and all the colours of 
the rainbow — so Paul passes this thing. Love, through 
the magnificent prism of his inspired intellect, and it 
comes out on the other side broken up into its elements. 
And in these few words we have what one might call 

69 



A^ HENRY DRUMMOND 

n the Spectrum of Love, the analysis of Love. Will you 
observe what its elements are ? Will you notice that 
they have common names ; that they are virtues which 
we hear about every day, that they are things which can 
be practised by every man in every place in life ; and 
how, by a multitude of small things and ordinary virtues, 
the supreme thing, the suinmum bonum, is made up ? 
The Spectrum of Love has nine ingredients : — 

Patience . . . . " Love siiffereth long." 
Kindness . . . . " And is kind." 
Generosity ..." Love envieth not." 

Humility. . . . " Love vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up." 
Courtesy .... " Doth not behave itself unseemly." 
Unselfishness . . "Seeketh not her own." 
Good Temper . . "Is not easily provoked." 
Guilelessness . . "Thinketh no evil." 

Sincerity ..." Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the 
truth." 

. . . Patience ; kindness ; generosity ; humility ; cour- 
tesy ; unselfishness ; good temper ; guilelessness ; sin- 
cerity — these make up the supreme gift, the stature of 
the perfect man. . . . 

Now the business of our lives is to have these things 
fitted into our characters. That is the supreme work to 
which we need to address ourselves in this world, to 
learn Love. Is life not full of opportunities for learning 
Love ? Every man and woman every day has a thou- 
sand of them. The world is not a playground ; it is a 
schoolroom. Life is not a holiday, but an education. 
And the one eternal lesson for us all is hoiv better we can 
love. What makes a man a good cricketer ? Practice. 
What makes a man a good artist, a good sculptor, a 
good musician ? Practice. What makes a man a good 
linguist, a good stenographer ? Practice. What makes 

70 



HENRY DRUMMOND 



man a good man ? 



Practice. Nothing else. There 
is notiiing capricious about rehgion. We do not get 
the soul in different ways, under different laws, from 
those in which we get the body and the mind. If a man 
does not exercise his arm he develops no biceps muscle ; 
and if a man does not exercise his soul, he acquires no 
muscle in his soul, no strength of character, no vigour of 
moral fibre, nor beauty of spiritual growth. Love is not 
a thing of enthusiastic emotion. It is a rich, strong, 
manly, vigorous expression of the whole round Christian 
character — the Christlike nature in its fullest develop- 
ment. And the constituents of this gi-eat character are 
only to be built up by ceaseless practice. 



From " The Greatest Thing in the World.' 



71 



.C^ G^^ t?W CW G^^ g^ C^ g^ C,^ GW <?Wi 



Lyman Abbott 

1835- 



New England-born, with collegiate, legal, and theological train- 
ing, this Congregational clergyman was for some years a pastor, 
then a literary and editorial workman, in 1876 joining Henry 
Ward Beecher in the editorship of The Chiistian Union, since 
1893 called The Outlook. After Mr. Beecher's death he was for 
ten years pastor of Plymouth Church, maintaining his connection 
with The Outlook, which he still edits. His writings cover a 
great range of themes, chiefly religious, and are compact of good 
sense, clear thought, and noble aspiration, expressed in a style of 
delightful lucidity. 



THEISTIC EVOLUTION 

WHEN man would make a rose with tools, 
he fashions petals and leaves of wax, colours 
them, manufactures a stalk by the same 
mechanical process, — and the rose is done. 
When God makes a rose, He lets a bird or a pufF of 
wind drop a seed into the ground ; out of the seed there 
emerges a stalk ; and out of the stalk, branches ; and 
on these branches, buds ; and out of these, roses unfold ; 
and the rose is never done, for it goes on endlessly 
repeating itself This is the difference between manu- 
facture and growth. . . . 

The radical evolutionist believes that all divine proc- 
esses, so far as we are able to understand them, are 

72 

?• • • • • # ""• "~« '"S "^ "*^ '•^^ 



qJ ^ eJ^eJ P' 



.^iLs^ 



.sai 












♦ • • -^ 



LYMAN ABBOTT 



processes of growth ; that as God makes the oak out of 
the acorn, and the rose out of the cutting, and the man 
out of the babe, and the nation out of the colony, and 
the literature out of the alphabet, so God has made all 
things by the development of higher from lower forms. 
He believes that, so far as he can see, God is never a 
manufacturer, but always does His work by growth 
processes. The best simple definition of this that I 
have ever seen is Le Conte's : "Evolution is continuous 
progi-essive change, according to certain laws and by 
means or resident forces." ... 

There never was a time when the world was done. 
It is not done to-day. It is in the making. In the 
belief of the evolutionists, the same processes that were 
going on in the creative days are going on here and 
now. Still the nebulae are gathering together in globes; 
still globes are beginning their revolution ; still they are 
flattening at the poles ; still they are cooling and becom- 
ing solid ; still in them are springing up the forms of 
life. In our own globe the same forces that were 
operative in the past to make the world what it is are 
operative to-day ; still from the seeds are springing 
the plants ; still the mountains are being pushed up by 
volcanic forces below ; still chasms are being made by 
the earthquake ; all the methods and all the processes 
that went on in those first great days are still pro- 
ceeding. Creative days ! Every day is a creative day. 
Every spring is a creative spring. God is always 
creating. . . . 

Does this account of creation by evolution take God 
away from the world ? It seems to me that it brings 
Him a great deal nearer. 



From 



'The Theology of an Evolutionist.'' 
73 






• • 







O Rev. John Todd, D.D. 

^rM 18G0-1873 

•>r* . 

/ V This New Englander by birth and education was a Congrega- •>. 

ft- -^ tional minister, deeply interested in education, and was one of the 

^ ^ founders of the Mount Holyolie Female Seminary. His writings 

/ \ were nearly all either for the young, as " Lectures to Children,'" *\(/# 

^-M "■ Truth Made Simple,'' " Young Man," " Daughter at School," / '\ 

^ ^ etc., or for their elders, with reference to the training of the young. ^ '0 



i^'\ He wrote also moral tales and devotional works — all, however, •.!>♦ 
\k. M '^^^^ ^ freshness of spirit, a glint of humour, a steady sanity and i \ 
w- " good sense that gave them both wide popularity and marked |^ ^ 
^ /^^ influence. He was interested in the then newly rising questions of •<> ^ 
i 1 woman's rights and sphere, and our extract gives in brief his idea / \ 
^ ■# of them. ^ ^ 

t>r^ A VIEW OF WOMAN •yf* 

V"^ "T^ "yOBODY pretends that the sexes are equal in^^y 
•\(^ I ^k I weight, in height, or in bodily strength. The •v ,• 
L \ 1 ^ bodies of the two sexes seem to have been / \ 
V W planned for different ends. As to the mind, I V *# 

JS /'. have no difficulty in admitting that the mind of woman *> z'* 
^ J is equal to ours, — nay, if you please, superior. It is As ^ 
J fj quicker, more flexible, more elastic. I certainly have r ^ 
y '^ never seen boys learn languages or mathematics, up to a /^ Sj. 
^ ^ certain point, as fast or as easy as some girls. Woman's ^ "^ 



intuitions also are far better than ours. 



•. ^9 iiiLuiuuiis ciisu are j.ar ucLLcr uiau ours. one rcaus cuar- •%/-« 
/ \ acter quicker, comes to conclusions quicker, and if 1 1^ Jk 
%" ^ must make a decision on the moment, I had much % 
^ ^ rather have the woman's decision than man's. She has *\ /* 
/^ V intuitions given her for her own protection which we jL \ 
^ ^ have not. She has a delicacy of taste to which we can ^ § 
^ ^ lay no claim. •% ^* 

/^ \ [After discussing the realms of invention, mathemati- / \ 
^ -Jl cal labour, architecture, painting, sculpture, and instru- |r 'y 



' m^ma:::z:x:a:ia: n:^ 



i^ REV. JOHN TODD, D.D. ^^ 

^> /J mental music, the author proceeds] : In none of these J 
^ ^ departments can woman compete with man. Not be- •^ \ 
* ^ cause her immortal mind is inferior, — far from it, — but ^ '^ 
/ '\ because her bodily organisation cannot endure the pres- *!. ^* 
J" -w sure of continued and long labour as we can. We may K, m 
K ^ deny this, and declare it is not so ; but the history of * • 
k _1 our race, and the state of the world now, show that it is 5> ^ 
fc # so. I don't say that here and there a woman can't endure r» ■S 
^y ^v much and long ; but they are rare exceptions. ... •x >-♦ 

L J The design of God in creating woman was to complete £ \ 
^ ^ man — a one-sided being without her. Together they %" # 
/ 1'^ make a complete, perfect unit. She has a mission — no*\ff 
L J higher one could be given her — to be the mother, and K \ 
^ ^ the forme?' of all the character of the human race. For ' ^ 
/^ \ the first, most important, earthly period of life, the race *> <^ 
j> J is committed to her, for about twelve years, almost en- |k ^ 
? Z4 tirely. The human family is what she makes them. J ^ 
r '\ She is the queen of the home, its centre, its light and y'^ \ 
% W S^'^^y- The home, the home is the fountain of all that ^ '^ 
K ^« is good on earth. If she desires a higher, loftier, nobler •. ,# 
( \ trust than this, I know not where she can find it. / \ 
%' -0 Mother, wife, daughter, sister, are the tenderest, most ^ ■# 
^> f^ endearing words in language. Our mothers train us, and ^\ <P 
\ \ we owe everything to them. Our wives perfect all that K, \ 
w'9 '\^ good in us, and no man is ashamed to say he is in- J \ 
^ (^ debted to his wife for his happiness, his influence, and ]r '^ 
L 1 his character, if there is anything noble about him. ^ ^ 
\ w Woman is the highest, holiest, most precious gift to ». a 
|\ <* man. Her mission and throne is the family, and if any- /' X 
^ \ thing is withheld that would make her more efficient, 1^ '\ 
\ w useful, or happy in that sphere, she is wronged, and has ? 
'> ^ not her " rights." /^ 'v 

\'§ From "Woman's Rights," 1867. \ 9 



t i 

1 J 

^ Sarah Margaret Fuller Ossoli Wl 

1810-1850 

A very unusual woman was Margaret Fuller, born in Cambridge- 
port, Mass., who received the tribute of intimacy with some of the 
great minds of her day. A natural scholar, she wrote Latin verse 
at eight, read the Italian poets in their own tongue at ten, and 
was a wide reader of German writers, especially in metaphysics. 
She was editor of The Dial when Emerson was one of its con- 
tributors, and was his close friend : Horace Greeley sought her 
able art-criticism on the Tribune ; Carlyle in England, George 
Sand in France, and other brilliant writers made her welcome in 
Europe. She manned the Marquis d'Ossoli in Rome, in 1847. 
She held and promulgated very advanced ideas on the subject of 
the rights and wrongs of her sex, and her book on " Woman in 
the Nineteenth Century " was a powei'ful plea for social and 
political enfranchisement. She perished in shipwreck with her 
husband and young infant in the year 1850 on returning to 
America. 



WOMAN^S RIGHTS 



attaching 



importance, in them- 



UjC^ ^ Y "T ITHOUT 

f^i %/%/ selves, to the changes demanded by the 

A \ V ¥ champions of Woman, we hail them as 

r jW\ signs of the times. AVe would have every 

^^^ • arbitrary barrier thrown down. We would have every 

path laid open to Woman as freely as to Man. Were 

this done, and a slight temporary fermentation allowed 

to subside, we should see crystallisations more pure and 

76 



T SARAH MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI ' 

of more various beauty. We believe the divine energy 
would pervade nature to a degree unknown in the his- 
tory of former ages, and that no discordant collision, but 
a ravishing harmony of the spheres, would ensue. 

Yet, then and only then will mankind be ripe for this, ( 
when inward and outward freedom for Woman as much 
as for Man shall be acknowledged as a right, not yielded ' 
as a concession. As the friend of the negro assumes 
that one man cannot by right hold another in bondage, 
so should the friend of Woman assume that Man cannot 
by right lay even well-meant restrictions on Woman. 
If the negro be a soul, if the woman be a soul, apparelled 
in flesh, to one Master only are they accountable. There 
is but one law for souls, and, if there is to be an inter- 
preter of it, he must come not as man, or son of man, , 
but as son of God. Were thought and feeling once so 
far elevated that Man should esteem himself the brother ' 
and friend, but nowise the lord and tutor of Woman, 
— were he really bound with her in equal worship, — 
arrangements as to function and employment would be 
of no consequence. What Woman needs is not as a 
woman to act or rule, but as a nature to grow, as an 
intellect to discern, as a soul to live freely and unim- 
peded, to unfold such powers as were given her when 
we left our common home. If fewer talents were given 
her, yet if allowed the free and full employment of these, 
so that she may render back to the giver his own with 
usury, she will not complain ; nay, I dare to say she will 
bless and rejoice in her earthly birth-place, her earthly 
lot. 

From " Woman in the Nineteenth Century," 1 845. 



77 







Charles Cavendish Fulke Greville 

1794-1865 



^ 



This accomplished gentleman was a great-grandson of Lord 
Warwick and a grandson of the Duke of Portland ; thus of high 
lineage, though bearing no title. Before he was twenty years of 
age he was appointed private secretary to Earl Bathurst ; soon 
after, Secretary of Jamaica (a sinecure) ; and in 1821 he became 
Secretary of the Council. This responsible position, which kept 
him in intimate connection with the official proceedings of the 
king's cabinet and socially with the court, he held for nearly forty 
years. During that time he kept a series of singularly frank and 
discriminating Journals, " designed chiefly to preserve a record of j ' 
the less known causes and details of public events which came 
under the Author's observation, and they are interspersed with 
the conversations of many of the eminent men with whom he 
associated." They cover the reigns of George IV and William IV, 
concluding with the accession of Queen Victoria in 1837. The 
freedom of their comment is often amusing, and the narration 
and shrewd criticism of the events of his long day, with the men 
and women who were the most influential actors in them, are full 
of historical and social interest. 









-w CHARLES CAVENDISH FULKE GREVILLE ,^ 

c5 



&> 



YOUNG QUEEN VICTORIA 



June 21st, 1837. 



T 



^HE King died at twenty minutes after two 
yesterday morning, and the young Queen met 

^ the council at Kensington Palace at eleven. 

■5) Never was anything like the first impression 

she produced, or the chorus of praise and admiration 
which is raised about her manner and behaviour, and cer- 

1^ tainly not without justice. It was very extraordinary, 

"" and something far beyond what was looked for. Her 
extreme youth and inexperience, and the ignorance of 
the world concerning her, naturally excited intense curi- 
osity to see how slie would act on this trying occasion, 
and there was a considerable assemblage at the palace, 
notwithstanding the short notice which was given. The 
first thing to be done was to teach her her lesson, which 
for this purpose Melbourne had himself to learn. I 
gave him the Council papers, and explained all that was 
to be done, and he went and explained all this to her. 
He asked her if she would enter the room accompanied 
by the great officers of state, but she said she would 
come in alone. When the lords were assembled the 
Lord President informed them of the King's death, and 
suggested, as they were so numerous, that a few of them 
should repair to the presence of the Queen and inform 
her of the event, and that their lordships were assembled 
in consequence ; and accordingly the two royal dukes, 
the two archbishops, the Chancellor and Melbourne went 

79 



CHARLES CAVENDISH FULKE GREVILLE 



with him. The Queen received them in the adjoining 
room alone. As soon as they had returned the procla- 
mation was read and the usual order passed, when the 
doors were thrown open and the Queen entered, ac- 
companied by her two uncles, who advanced to ineet 
her. She bowed to the lords, took her seat, and then 
read her speech in a clear, distinct, and audible voice, 
and without any appearance of fear or embarrassment. 
She was quite plainly dressed, and in mourning. After 
she had read her speech and taken and signed the oath 
for the security of the Church of Scotland, the privy 
councillors were sworn, the two royal dukes [Cumber- 
land and Essex] first, by themselves ; and as these two 
old men, her uncles, knelt before her, swearing alle- 
giance and kissing her hand, I saw her blush up to the 
eyes, as if she felt the contrast between their civil and 
their natural relations, and this was the only sign of 
emotion which she evinced. Her manner to them was 
very graceful and engaging ; she kissed them both, and 
rose from her chair and moved toward the Duke of 
Sussex, who was farthest from her and too infirm to 
reach her. . . . She went through the whole ceremony, 
occasionally looking at Melbourne for instruction when 
she had any doubt what to do, which hardly ever oc- 
curred, and with perfect calmness and self-possession, 
but at the same tiine with a graceful modesty and 
propriety particularly interesting and ingratiating. 
When the business was done, she retired as she had 
entered. . . . 

In short, she appears to act with every sort of good 
taste and good feeling, as well as good sense, and as far ^-^• 
as it has gone nothing can be more favourable than the y\r 
impression she has made, and nothing can promise l^^(> 



(& 



SN CHARLES CAVENDISH FULKE GREVILLE 

better than her manner and conduct do, though it would 
be rash to count too confidently upon her judgment and 
discretion in more weighty matters. No contrast can be 
greater than that between the personal demeanour of the 
present and the late sovereigns at their respective ac- 
cessions. William IV was a man who, coming to the 
throne at the mature age of sixty-five, was so excited by 
the exaltation that he nearly went mad, and dis- 
tinguished himself by a thousand extravagances of 
language and conduct, to the alarm or amusement of all 
who witnessed his strange freaks ; and though he was 
shortly afterwards sobered down into more becoming 
habits, he always continued to be something of a black- 
guard and something more of a buffoon. It is but fair 
to his memory at the same time to say that he was a 
good-natured, kind-hearted, and well-meaning man, and 
he always acted an honourable and straightforward, if 
not always a sound and discreet, part. 

From "The Greville Memoirs." 



81 






Henry Clay 



1777-1852 

A poor lad, born in Hanover Co., Virginia, Henry Clay had 
his first employment as a mill-boy ; then, showing intelligence, he 
was made clerk of the Court of Chancery^ and during his four 
years there became expert in legal forms, had a year of law-study, 
and at twenty years of age was admitted to the bar. He went to 
Lexington, Ky., made friends rapidly, cultivated his knowledge by 
assiduous reading and his native grace and power of oratory in a 
debating society, as well as in the courts, and soon rose to be 
a noted advocate. 

In 1803 he was elected to Congress, and, with some variations 
of place, practically spent his mature life either in the House of 
Representatives or in the United States Senate, which he entered 
finally in 1811, and where he remained almost continuously until 
his death in 1852. 

Mr. Clay was one of the most eloquent men America has known, 
and is always grouped with Webster and Calhoun. His special 
interests were national internal improvements, protection of infant 
American industries by a moderate customs tariff, the War of 1812, 
a National Bank, opposition to slavery, but above all the preserva- 
tion of the Union from the dissensions concerning slavery. He 
ably engineered several famous " Compromises," and was hailed as 
" The great Pacificator." He was personally a remarkable popular 
favourite, but political party strifes deprived him of his prime 
ambition, the Presidency. He was intensely interested in the 
Greek Revolution, and our extract is from a speech he made upon 
the passage of a resolution in the House, introduced by Daniel 
Webster, expressing sympathy with the cause and proposing to 
send a political agent to report on its progress. 



82 






HENRY CLAY 



€?] 



IM 



THE GREEK REVOLUTION 

■R. CHAIRMAN, is it not extraordinary that 
for these two successive years the President 
of the United States should have been freely 
indulged, not only without censure, but with 
^ universal applause, to express the feelings which both the 
resolution and the amendment proclaim, and yet, if this 
House venture to unite with him, the most awful conse- 
quences are to ensue ? From Maine to Georgia, from 
the Atlantic Ocean to the Gulf of Mexico, the sentiment 
of approbation has blazed with the rapidity of electricity. 
Everywhere, the interest in the Gi-ecian ■ cause is felt 
with the deepest intensity, expressed in every form, and 
increases with every new day and passing hour. And 
are the representatives of the people alone to be insulated 
froin the common moral atmosphere of the whole land ? 
Shall we shut ourselves up in apathy, and separate our- 
selves from our country, from our constituents, from our 
chief magistrate, from our principles ? . . . 

Mr. Chairman, what appearance on the page of histoiy 
would a record like this exhibit ? " In the month of 
January, in the year of our Lord and Saviour, 1824, 
while all European Christendom beheld, with cold and 
unfeeling indifference, the unexampled wi'ongs and in- 
expressible misery of Chi'istian Greece, a proposition was 
made in the Congress of the United States, almost the 
sole, the last, the gi'eatest depository of human hope and 
human freedom, the representatives of a gallant nation. 



n HENRY CLAY U 

W containing a million of freemen ready to fly to arms, >| 

\\ while the people of that nation were spontaneously ex- 'k 

'J pressing its deep-toned feeling, and the whole continent, fi 

[A by one simultaneous emotion, was rising, and solemnly I \ 

^ and anxiously supplicating and invoking high Heaven to \ 

IV I spare and succour Greece, and to invigorate her arms in ^ 

fj her glorious cause, while temples and senate-houses were A 

fjL alike resounding with one burst of generous and holy 1 1 

A? sympathy ; — in the year of our Lord and Saviour, that \ 

S I Saviour of Greece and of us — a proposition was offered ^J 

//in the American Congress to send a messenger to / 

At Greece, to inquire into her state and condition, with a f i 

^y^kind expression of our good wishes and our sympathies V 

\\ — ^ and it was rejected !" Go home, if you can, go home, A] 

'/ if you dare, to your constituents, and tell them that you y 

ft^ voted it down — meet, if you can, the appalling counte- ii 

y^ nances of those who sent you here, and tell them that V 

|| 1 you shrank from the declaration of your own sentiments "W 

fj — that you cannot tell how, but that some unknown A 

V^ dread, some indescribable apprehension, some indefinable l\ 

^ danger, drove you from your purpose — that the spectres Jk 

\ I of scimitars, and crowns, and crescents, gleamed before rj 

^J you and alarmed you ; and that you suppressed all the ii 

Cf noble feelings prompted by religion, by liberty, by Vj 

^^ national independence, and by humanity. I cannot JM 

\i I bring myself to believe that such will be the feeling of a V 

//majority of the committee. But, for myself, though |{ 

vL every friend of the cause should desert it, and I be left X 

jV to stand alone with the gentleman fi'om Massachusetts, jfi 

\ J I will give to his resolution the poor sanction of my un- /, 

fJ qualified approbation. t 

lV From a Speech in the House of Representatives. jU 



84 



Dr. John Lord 



1812-1896 

Learned in historical lore, keenly critical, witty, kindly, eloquent k/ 
with the pen, and although monotonous yet insistently attractive f /5t 
as a speakei-. Dr. Lord was known and welcomed for fifty years as V v^ 
a lecturer throughout the United States and England. Even in ^ 
his college days at Dartmouth he developed a passion for historical «1 
reading ; and, after a theological course and a few years of pastoral y 
work, he devoted himself to historical lecturing. Giving regular f ^K 
courses at Dartmouth and other colleges, he lectured also in l^^ 
seminaries, colleges, cities and towns all over this continent, and %X 
for several years in Great Britain. He wrote many historical ^j 
works, some attaining very wide circulation, from his gift for 
selecting salient points of influence, and his brilliant style of 
presenting them. In 1883 he began rewriting and collecting all 
his lectures and published works into a series entitled " Beacon 
Lights of History," which has remained a valuable monument of 
his life''s labours, and has become familiar to a multitude of intelli- 
gent readers. 

THE CRUSADES 



I KNOW of no great wars, severely and justly as 
they may be reprobated, which have not been over- 
ruled for the ultimate welfare of society. The wars 
of Alexander led to the introduction of Grecian 
civilisation into Asia and Egypt ; those of the Romans, 
to the pacification of the world and the reign of law and 
order ; those of barbarians, to the colonisation of the 

85 






DR. JOHN LORD 



worn-out provinces of the Roman Empire by hardier 
and more energetic nations ; those of Charlemagne, to 
the ultimate suppression of barbaric invasion ; those of 
the Saracens, to the acknowledgment of One God ; those 
of Charles V., to the recognised necessity of a balance 
of power ; those which grew out of the Reformation, to 
religious liberty. The Huguenots' contest undermined 
the ascendency of Roman priests in France ; the Seven 
Years' War developed the naval power of England, and 
gave to her a prominent place among the nations, and 
exposed the Aveakness of Austria, so long the terror of 
Europe ; the wars of Louis XIV sowed the seeds of the 
French Revolution ; those of Napoleon vindicated its 
great ideas ; those of England in India introduced the 
civilisation of a Christian nation ; those of the Ameri- 
cans secured liberty and the unity of their vast nation. 
The majesty of the Governor of the universe is seen in 
nothing more impressively than in the direction which 
the wrath of man is made to take. 

Now these remarks apply to the Crusades. They 
represented prevailing ideas. Their origin was a univer- 
sal hatred of Mohammedans. Like all the institutions 
of the Middle Ages, they were a great contradiction, — 
debasement in glory, and glory in debasement. With 
all the fierceness and superstition and intolerance of 
feudal barons, we see in the Crusades the exercise 
of gallantry, personal heroism, tenderness. Christian 
courtesy, — the virtues of chivalry, unselfishness and 
magnanimity ; but they ended in giving a new impulse 
I to civilisation. ... V^ 

' I do not say that the Crusades alone produced the i 
marvellous change in the condition of society which took ^ 
I place in the thirteenth century, but they gave an impulse (/ 
I 86 V 



!\^ 



DR. JOHN LORD 



to this change. The strong saphng [hberty] which the 
barbarians brought from their German forests and planted 
in the heart of Europe, — and which had silently grown 
in the darkest ages of barbarism, guarded by the hand of 
Providence, — became a sturdy tree in the feudal ages, 
and bore fruit when the barons had wasted their strength 
in Asia. The Crusades improved this fruit, and found 
new uses for it, and scattered it far and wide, and made 
it for the healing of the nations. Enterprise of all sorts 
succeeded the apathy of convents and castles. The vil- 
lage of mud huts became a town, in which manufactures 
began. As new wants became apparent, new means of 
supplying them appeared. The Crusades stimulated 
these wants, and commerce and manufactures supplied 
them. The modern merchant was born in Lombard 
cities, which supplied the necessities of the crusaders. 
Feudalism ignored trade, but the baron found his rival 
in the merchant-prince. Feudalism disdained art, but 
increased wealth turned peasants into carpenters and 
masons ; carpenters and masons combined and defied 
their old masters, and these masters left their estates 
for the higher civilisation of cities, and built palaces in- 
stead of castles. Palaces had to be adorned, as well as 
churches ; and the painters and handicraftsmen found 
employment. So one force stimulated another force ; 
neither of which would have appeared if feudal life had 
remained in statu quo. 

From " Beacon Lights of History." 



87 



^i^^^^i^^e^ 






• • • _ • 




John Willi a VI Draper 

1811-1882 



As a scientific thinker and writer, Professor Draper holds high 
rank. Enghsh-born, he took his medical degree at the University 
of Pennsylvania, and became a professor of natural philosophy, 
chemistry, and physiology in Hampden Sidney College, Va., after 
which he removed to New York, and was one of the founders of 
the Medical College of the New York University. He was a fre- 
quent and influential writer in both American and British scientific 
periodicals, and issued a number of highly esteemed books along 
the lines o^ his scientific interest. Probably the work that made 
the most impression on the lay public was his thoughtful volume 
on " The Intellectual Development of Europe," from which we 
have made a suggestive extract. 



INDIVIDUAL AND NATIONAL LIFE 

IN an individual, life is maintained only by the 
production and destruction of organic particles, 
no portion of the system being in a state of im- 
mobility, but each displaying incessant change. 
Death is, therefore, necessarily the condition of life. . . . 
To the death of particles in the individual answers 
the death of persons in the nation, of which they are 
the integral constituents. In both cases, in a period of 
time quite inconsiderable, a total change is accom- 
plished without the entire system, which is the sum of 
these separate parts, losing its identity. Each particle 
or each person comes into existence, discharges an ap- 



U 




' e^ e^ <iW q!^ oJ f ^ (J^ <iW n^ cJf ^ q:^ U ^ <W 
• ••••••••••• 




JOHN WILLIAM DRAPER 



propriate duty, and then passes away, perhaps unno- 
ticed. The production, continuance, and death of an 
organic molecule in the person answers to the produc- 
tion, continuance, and death of a person in the nation. 

We must therefore no longer regard nations or groups 
of men as offering a permanent picture. Human affairs 
must be looked upon as in continuous movement, not 
wandering in an arbitrary manner here and there, but 
proceeding in a perfectly definite course. Whatever 
may be the present state, it is altogether transient. All 
systems of civil life are therefore necessarily ephemeral. 
Time brings new external conditions ; the manner of 
thought is modified ; with thought, action. Institutions 
of all kinds must hence participate in this fleeting 
nature, and, though they may have allied themselves 
to political power, and gathered therefrom the means 
of coercion, their permanency is but little improved 
thereby ; for, sooner or later, the population on whom 
they have been imposed, following the external varia- 
tions, spontaneously outgrows them, and their ruin, 
though it may have been delayed, is none the less 
certain. . . . 

Nations, like individuals, die. Their birth presents 
an ethnical element ; their death, which is the most 
solemn event that we can contemplate, may arise from 
interior or external causes. Empires are only sand-hills 
in the hour-glass of Time ; they crumble spontaneously 
away by the process of their own growth. . . . The 
human race is not at rest ; and bands with which, for a 
moment, it may be restrained, break all the more vio- 
lently the longer they hold. No man can stop the 
march of destiny. 



From " The Intellectual Development of Europe.' 

89 

• • • • » m ••'•'« — A 



1\ 

U 




2,5 Edmund Burke ^^ 

•>^ i • 

L\ 1728-1797 y\<T 

/" \ This Irish-born statesman of England exempHfies the value of •v ^ 
^ -^ sound learning and a solid preparation for the duties of life. His / '\ 
J ^ extraordinary talents were in youth devoted to study, acquiring a,\ '9 
g\ ^v varied knowledge and familiarity with the best classical and Eng- ••> ^* 
I J lish writers. After university and law study his first publication £ \ 
%■ ^ was a daring imitation of the eloquent philosophical thought and %^ '^ 
•> ^ style of Lord Bolingbroke, extending the principles of that writer's •v /* 
/ \ attacks upon religion, in application to the destruction of all { \ 
^t> -M institutions. The book (1756) was believed to be a posthumous K^ ■^ 
^ ^ work of Bolingbroke''s, but Burke's acknowledgment of the writing ^ ^ 
/* \ gave him instant fame. In the same year appeared his essay on >' 'v 
■* -J " 1'^^ Sublime and Beautiful," a classic of criticism, gaining him frv ^ 
^ ^ the friendship of Dr. Johnson and other leaders of thought. He ^ ' 
^"^^^ founded and for some years conducted The Anmial Register, a ^N^'T 
i \ weekly review of current events, characterised by accuracy and iL \ 
^ W acumen. A brief service as secretary of the Marquis of Rocking- ^ 
•>, /•• ham, the head of the treasury department, resulted, in 1776, in his y\ /"* 
/ 1 entering Parliament, where on his very first day he astonished his A \ 
^ "y fellow-members, and won high praise from William Pitt, by an • w 
•> ^« able speech on the repeal of the Stamp Act — thus promptly ^n^^ 
£ \ enrolling himself among the friends of America, and taking a posi- 1. A 
^ -M tion of recognised power. From this time to 1794 — within three % S 
• • years of his death — Burke was one of the great masters of debate : ^\ /;• 
y>'v his extensive and various knowledge, his splendid oratory — i^)k 
^ J employing all the powers of wonderful intellect, brilliant fancy, ^ ^ 
^ W keen wit, tender pathos, and a most effective delivery, and under- »y M 
••«. ^4 lying all a sound judgment, and an unquestioned sincerity — / \ 
/ Y ranked him with the greatest of his day. His " Reflections on the r*> ^ 
^ -^ French Revolution " and his conduct of the trial of Warren Hast- ^ W 
m m "^o® remain as perhaps the most famous of his efibrts, but all his •>. ^* 
/"^ '^ works constitute an inexhaustible treasure-house of wisdom and of / \ 
^ J eloquence. If^ r^ 

\W 90 J J 






•A^ 



ff\ EDMUND BURKE ^'T 

^•^ MARIE ANTOINETTE ^« J 

^ J "W" "W" ISTORY will record that on the morning of Z' A 
i W I I the 6th of October, 1789, the king and queen ^ '§ 
> ^v 1 H of France, after a day of confusion, alarm, •» ^« 

J dismay, and slaughter, lay down, under the £ \ 

*■ ^ pledged security of public faith, to indulge nature iii a- 5 ^ 
"^ ^\ few hours of respite, and troubled melancholy repose. ^N ^^ 
^ A From this sleep the queen was first startled by the K A 
^ ^ voice of the sentinel at her door, who cried out to her ' 
^ ^ to save herself by flight — that this was the last proof J^ '^v 
p« ^ of fidelity he could give — that they were upon him ; ^ ^ 
^ and he was dead. A band of cruel ruffians and assassins, J ^ 
■ "V reeking with his blood, rushed into the chamber of the /^ \ 
l" "W queen, and pierced with a hundred strokes of bayonets ^ ^ 
V ^f and poniards the bed from which this persecuted woman ••y f* 

\ had but just time to fly almost naked, and through ways / \ 
{" -^ unknown to the murderers to seek refuge at the feet of • ^ 
,> f^ a king and husband, not secure of his own life for a 5^ "^ 

\ moment; ^ '\ 

\ "9 The king, to say no more of him, and the queen, J ^ 
S ^5 and their infant children . . . were then forced to / \ 
» _J abandon the sanctuary of the most splendid palace in ^ ^ 
\ w. the world, which they left swimming in blood, polluted ». m 
«v <"• by massacre, and strewed with scattered limbs and / \ 

\ mutilated carcases. Thence they were conveyed into v" '\ 
\ # the capital of their kingdom ... in the torture of J ^ 
r^^ a slow journey of twelve miles, protracted to six /''V 
jjj h„u«. . . . ^^ ^^ 



% 



EDMUND BURKE 



It is now sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the 
queen of France, then the dauphiness, at Versailles ; 
and surely never lighted on this orb, which she hardly 
seemed to touch, a more delightful vision. I saw her 
just above tlie horizon, decorating and cheering the 
elevated sphere she just began to move in — glittering 
like the morning-star, full of life, and splendour, and joy. 
Oh ! what a revolution 1 And what a heart must I 
have, to contemplate without emotion that elevation 
and that fall ! Little did 1 dream that, when she added 
titles of veneration to those of enthusiastic, distant, 
respectful love, that she should ever be obhged to carry 
the sharp antidote against disgrace concealed in that 
bosom ; little did I dream that I should have lived to 
see such disasters fallen upon her in a nation of gallant 
men, in a nation of men of honour and cavaliers. I 
thought ten thousand swords must have leaped from 
their scabbards to avenge even a look that threatened 
her with insult. But the age of chivalry is gone. That 
of sophisters, economists and calculators has succeeded ; 
and the glory of Europe is extinguished forever. . . . 
The unbought grace of life, the cheap defence of 
nations, the nurse of manly sentiment and heroic 
enterprise is gone ! 

From " Reflections on the French Revohition." 



I 






EDMUND BURKE 



THE TAX ON TEA 



Never did a people suffer so much from the empty- 
words of a preamble. It must be given up. For on 
what principles does it stand ? This famous revenue 
stands, at this hour, in all the debate, as a description of 
revenue not as yet known in all the comprehensive (but 
too comprehensive!) vocabulary of finance — a pream- 
hulary tax [asserted in the preamble to be " expedient," 
yet not specifically provided for]. It is indeed a tax of 
sophistry, a tax of pedantry, a tax of disputation, a tax 
of war and rebellion. . . . 

Could anything be a subject of more just alarm to 
America than to see you go out of the plain highroad 
of finance, and give up your most certain revenues, 
and your clearest interests, merely for the sake of in- 
sulting your colonies ? No man ever doubted that the 
commodity of tea could bear an imposition of three- 
pence. But no commodity will bear threepence, or 
will bear a penny, when the general feelings of men are 
irritated. The feelings of the colonies were formerly the 
feelings of Great Britain. Theirs were formerly the 
feelings of Mr. Hampden, when called upon for the pay- 
ment of twenty shillings. Would twenty shiUings have 
ruined Mr. Hampden's fortune ? No! but the payment 
of half twenty shillings, on the principle it was demanded, 
would have made him a slave. It is the weight of 
that preamble of which you are so fond, and not the 
weight of the duty, that the Americans are unable and 
unwilling to bear. 



I 



I 



From Speech on "The Conciliation of America.' 
93 






^ Theodore Dwi^ht Woolsey K. 

1801-1889 

A professor of Greek at Yale for fifteen years, then President 

■^. _ of the college for twenty-six years, Dr. Woolsey was an eminently 

vtll^ successful instructor and administrator. Great as was his fame 

in these relations, he was yet more widely known as a writer on 

the principles of public affairs. His various editions of the Greek 

classics are standards, but " An Introduction to the Study of 

International Law ■" is a modern classic, honoured the world over. 

Divorce Legislation, Religious themes. Political Science, Com- 

^^ munism and Socialism were all treated by him with lucidity and 

'^ power. And yet, again, so wide was his reputation as a scholar, 

^,^» that he was the Chairman of the American Committee of the 

**-ii* International Revision of the New Testament, which concluded 

its labours in 188L His word is universally accepted as weighty. 



SOCIALISM MEANS DESPOTISM 



^ M ^HE world is not full enough and never will 
H be full enough of material goods to satisfy all ; 

H^ and if the struggle for them were not checked 
by the social system, one would secure for 
■>! himself more than another, if the state did not interpose. 
It is not to be denied that evils attend on the present 
system of unlimited power to gain wealth ; but the 
point which we now make is that, in seeking to prevent 
these evils, the social theorists find it necessary to re- 
strict the freedom of individuals, especially the power 
of rising by enterprise, soundness of judgment, un- 
bounded energy, and other qualities, which not only 

94 



^ THEODORE DWIGHT WOOLSEY 

yi aid the individual in his advancement, but contribute 
iMf to the improvement of general society. 
^ When the individual is confined by law and public 
1^ institutions in his sphere of operations, society loses a 
Ki gi'eat part of its force ; and the state must acquire an 
mff equal or greater amount of force, or all the hopes of a 
^ community will be ship'RTecked. Thus, if private capi- 
Jk tal is to cease, the state must have the new function of 
jl general business director, or there will soon be no state 
Or' at all. Is it not perfectly evident that the state must 
^ become exceedingly strong to undertake such new duties, 
R in addition to many of its old ones ? And may we not 
J^ argue with certainty, from the checks which society, as 
ijr it now is, puts on the occasional violence and arbitrary 
m^ power of the state, that, when society is stripped of its 
K force in opinion and in action, a vast increase of inde- 
ih pendence, even a despotical sway, must be gained by 
#1 the state from this source also ? 

fff The state, then, under socialism must become strong 
iK and uncontrollable, not only because new offices are 
■■» committed to it, but also because these offices are taken 
"^ away from society and from its individual members, 
■^ who now will no longer be able to oppose, or correct, 
fj or enlighten the state in favour of the interests of general 
£bf society. What the form of the state in its socialistic era 
kI would be is of little importance. The essential char- 
^ acteristic is that it must become all but unlimited ; and 
K our readers are well aware that all unlimited govern- 
f^ ments are more like one another, whether they be 
fc. called monarchies or oligarchies or democracies, than 
^ they are each like to a limited government of their own 
III name. 

^ From " Communism and Socialism in their History and Theory." 




i 



Sydney Smith 



1771-1845 

Sagacious, humorous, sanely wise in practical matters, the 
Rev. Sydney Smith was a master-preacher, a noted essayist, a 
keen literary critic, and a conversationalist of impromptu wit and 
captivating earnestness. He was a voluminous writer : his Sermons, 
Letters, Reviews (he founded the Edinburgh Review, and edited 
the first number). Speeches and miscellaneous Essays were, and 
have remained, famous, and in his time were most influential. Our 
extract is from his criticism of a volume of American statistics, in 
the Edinburgh Review, in which he pays his compliments to the 
inevitable result of military and naval ambition on the part of a 
people. 



D 



I 



THE COST OF GLORY 

AVID PORTER and Stephen Decatur are 
very brave men [they had just been punishing 
the Algerines in naval battle] ; but they will 
prove an unspeakable misfortune to their coun- 
try, if they inflame Jonathan into a love of naval glory, 
and inspire him with any other love of war than that 
which is founded upon a determination not to submit 
to serious insult and injury. 

We can inform Jonathan what are the inevitable 
results of being too fond of glory : — Taxes, upon every 
article which enters into the mouth or covers the back, 
or is placed under the foot — taxes upon everything 
which it is pleasant to see, hear, feel, smell, or taste — 



i 



jM^0^^^^^^^ 



§ 



SYDNEY SMITH 



^7 taxes upon warmth, light, and locomotion — taxes on 
y everything on the earth and in the water under the 
yP earth — on everything that comes from abroad or is 
1 1 grown at home — taxes on the raw material — taxes on 
A7 every fresh value that is added to it by the industry of 
v^ man — taxes on the sauce which pampers man's ap- 
L r petite, and the drug that restores him to health — on the 
|^L ermine which decorates the judge, and the rope which 
rV hangs the criminal — on the poor man's salt and the 
7] rich man's spice — on the brass nails of the coffin, and 
^7 the ribands of the bride — at bed or board, couchant or 
y<j levant, we must pay. The school boy whips his taxed 
A top, — the beardless youth manages his taxed horse, 
rU with a taxed bridle, on a taxed road : — and the dying 
« Englishman, pouring his medicine, which has paid seven 
yS per cent., into a spoon that has paid fifteen per cent., 
AJ flings himself back upon his chintz bed, which has paid 
^J* twenty-two per cent., — and expires in the arms t>f an 
7 1 apothecary who has paid a license of a hundred pounds 
for the privilege of putting him to death. His whole 
property is then immediately taxed from two to ten 

Sper cent. Besides the probate, large fees are demanded 
for burying him in the chancel ; his virtues are handed 
down to posterity on taxed marble ; and he is then 
i* gathered to his fathers — to be taxed no more ! 

From " A Review of Statistical Annals of the U. S. of vVmerica." 



I 



97 



^^^^^^^^^^^m§ 






Washington Gladden 



1836- 



">h A Congregational clergyman, Dr. Gladden has held several 
^ pastorates, but since 1883 has been in Columbus, Ohio. He is a 
voluminous writer, of fine feeling and vigourous, virile style, chiefly 
on religious topics. Of late years he has taken prominent part in 
the discussion of social problems — labour, temperance, purity, the 
relations of wealth to man, etc., in brief, the application of Chris- 
tianity to the economic troubles of the day. His influence is wide 
and wholesome. 



<?] 



PAYING TAXES 



I 



T is certain that even under the system of direct 

taxation the strong and shrewd do contrive to 

evade a large part of their proper contribution, and 

that the conscientious are compelled to suffer for 

the sins of the unscrupulous. . . . 

If the money paid into the public treasury were hon- 
estly and intelligently used for the public welfare, we 
should receive greater benefit from it than from the same 
amount employed in any private enterprise. . . . All 
this is possible because of the great economies of co- 
operation when a whole city joins in the enterprise. 
And if the principles of taxation were equitably adjusted, 
so that each one should be called on to bear his fair 
share of the public burdens according to his ability, and 

98 



WASHINGTON GLADDEN 

if the citizens, in the spirit of the royal law, heartily ^ 
responded to this arrangement, each man determining 
to put upon his brother no part of his own load, taxation 
would cease to be a problem, and would present to us a 
welcome opportunity not only of serving our fellows, 
but of increasing our own happiness. 

It may be supposed that this suggestion borders on 
Utopianism ; and, indeed, I have no expectation that it 
will be entirely adopted in the Greater New York 
during the coming administration ; but I am as fully 
convinced as I can be of anything that you will never 
get this problem of taxation solved, with any degree of 
satisfaction, until you have brought this obligation of 
brotherhood very distinctly to bear upon it ; until you 
make it perfectly clear, to Christian men at least, that it 
is just as unbrotherly and un-Christian to make your 
neighbour pay your taxes as it is to steal his pocketbook 
or compel him to serve you as a slave. We must, of 
course do what we can to frame systems of taxation by 
which these obligations shall be equitably distributed 
and impartially enforced ; but we shall never get justice 
done and peace established until the law of brotherhood, 
instead of the law of conflict, is recognised as the supreme 
law of the social order. 

From " The Social Problems of the Future," 



LOFC. 






William Jewett Tucker 



Dr. Tucker has been since 1893 President of Dartmouth College 
(his alma mater in 1861). Several years as a Congregational pastor, 
and for a time professor in Andover Theological Seminary, his 
influence as a clear, inspiring thinker, and a speaker of unusual 
attractiveness and efl^ect, has steadily grown. He is a writer for 
the reviews, but has published comparatively little in book-form. 
The extract following is taken from his address at the Semi-Cen- 
tennial Celebration of Plymouth Church, Brooklyn, N. Y., the 
addresses on which occasion were published in a volume entitled 
" The New Puritanism." Dr. Tucker''s refreshing sense and pun- 
gent style wiU be enjoyed — and should be heeded. 



SOCIAL DUTY OF THE CHURCH 

IN the old days of Boston, in the time of its transi- 
tion from a great village into a city, the citizens 
organised themselves into a Watch and Ward So- 
ciety. They took turns in patrolling the streets. 
Of course this could not last. A city means delegated 
authority, the creation of departments to do certain 
things, and then usually the organisation of societies to 
see that they do them. This is the process by which 
we divest ourselves of individual responsibility, — not 
by denying it in the first instance, but by putting the 
exercise of it at a further and further remove from us, 
till at last with this removal of responsibility there comes 
in the gradual loss of sentiment, of feeling, and even of 
shame. I suppose that it would be as hard for the 






WILLIAM JEWETT TUCKER l| 

average citizen of this city to repent of his share of its jH 
sin as for a man trained in the New England theology /i 
to repent of the sin of Adam. He does n't know how % ' 
to do it. His mind, as now trained, is not capable of ^ 
working that way. W 

What we want, in the Church at least, is a habit of fi 
mind which will correspond to present facts and con- \\ 
ditions. It is useless to confront new and obstinate \ 
conditions with old habits of thinking, or with unused jH 
sensibilities. Every great movement, from the Refor- fi 
mation down, has demanded and created for itself an v 
appropriate habit of mind and of conscience. No great O 
headway can be made until this demand has been com- wj 
plied with. When once the present demand has been ft 
met, and a habit of mind has been created which will I \ 
express itself steadily and rightly through sensitiveness jX 
to others, through respofisibility for things held in com- wj 
mon, through what we must call, in spite of its philo- fi 
sophical vagueness, " the social conscience," the Church i* 
will have made a sure advance in the art of losing itself jS^ 
in the life of humanity. ... y 

Why have we come to a halt in foreign missions ? It 
Chiefly, I believe because we are beginning to be v 
ashamed, through all our Christian nature, of our un- Jw 
sanctified materialism. The nations have found us out, W 
and we know it. They have explored Christendom, ii 
and what impresses them most is the vast amount of ^ 
unapplied Christianity. Here, then, is the immediate W 
work of the Church. Here lies the ready task of the ^ 
new Christianity, to set Christendom in order, — its fi 
cities, its industries, its society, its literature, its law. V 

From " The Church of the Future." - W 



101 



i^s^;^^^^ 



lis 



\^ 



IB 



Newell Dwight Hillis 

1858- 



A Presbyterian minister from 1887 to 1894, then successor of 
David Swing in the Central (independent) Church at Chicago, Dr. 
HiUis was in 1899 called to the pastorate of Plymouth Church, 
Brooklyn, N. Y., as successor to Henry Ward Beecher and Lyman 
Abbott. He is a born orator ; a man of multifarious reading and 
wonderful niemory ; a liberal thinker, in the spirit of his prede- 
cessors ill Plymouth Church, which, in accordance with its traditions, 
he keeps full of people and of powei'. Poetical and imaginative. 
Dr. Hillis invests every topic he touches with a literary charm, 
while his earnestness and practical thinking lay hold on one's 
attention to the ethical and the spiritual as few preachers are able 
to do. His books — essays, sermons, addresses, tales — ^ appeal to 
a wide public, and spread his influence broadly over the land. 

FROM CONTEMPT TO GLORY 

IN all ages the reformers have gone the way of 
contempt, obloquy, and shame, having their Geth- 
semane. From Paul to Luther and Garrison and 
Gough, these men have been the best hated men of 
their times. . . . But if in the lifetime of the reformers 
the fathers stoned the prophets through the streets, cov- 
ered their garments with filth, mobbed their halls and 
houses, the children are building monuments to the 
reformer and teaching their sons the pathway to the 
hero's tomb. " Time writes the final epitaph," said 
Bacon, and we now see that those who in their lifetime 
allied themselves with the poor and weak have suprem- 
acy over the orators and statesmen and scholars who 
loved position and toiled for self . . . 

102 



NEWELL DWIGHT HILLIS 

Here is Garrison, serenely setting type for the Lib- 
erator, smiling scornfully upon the mob howling in the 
streets below his windows, even though destined an hour 
later to be dragged over the stones with a rope around 
his neck, and who in that hour was the only cool man in 
all the demoniac crowd. And here is Lowell, tuning his 
harp to songs of liberty ; and Emerson from his study 
flinging cold, philosophical reflections into the very teeth 
of slavery ; and here is Beecher with his flaming torch 
kindling the fires of liberty all over the land ; and here 
is Frederic Douglass with his scars, speaking eloquently 
of the horrors of the slave-market and the cotton-field ; 
and here is John Brown, with smiling face and sunny 
heart going bravely to his martyrdom ; and here also the 
company of noble women with their books and songs 
and stories strengthening the battle-line. Nor must 
we forget Florence Nightingale with her crusade in the 
hospital and prison ; Horace Mann with his crusade 
against ignorance ; Gough with his crusade against in- 
temperance ; General Booth with his crusade for the 
neglected poor in great cities, and Livingstone toiling 
unceasingly through weary years to encircle the Dark 
Continent with lighthouses for mind and heart. The 
time was when these reformers were despised, scoffed at, 
and mobbed, with whose very names men would not 
defile their lips. But now cities are erecting their 
statues in the parks and building monuments in the 
public squares, that children and youth may emulate 
their virtues. When time hath plowed our cities into 
dust the names of these reformers and heroes will survive 
as enduring monuments to our age and civilisation. 

From " Great Books as Life-Teachers." 



103 



^* ,-• -^ -^* • • • • • 



aJ^<iP'aF c^cJ" 



• • • 



Thomas Bahington, Lord 
Macaulay 

1800-1859 



Macaulay's fame is biilliant in many directions. At college he 
took a multitude of prizes, and immediately entered legal and 
political life with prompt success. At the age of thirty he went 
to Parliament, and spent much of his life either in that sphere or 
in divers high government offices, noted for his effective oratory, 
his great capacity for official business, and his accomplishment of 
important matters — ■ such as the codification of penal law for 
India. His especial celebrity, however, is as a man of letters. 
Gifted with a constructive imagination, and a remarkable memory, 
and being an omnivorous reader, his vast acquirements in language, 
history, and the legion of current events, were utilised in literary 
productions having a splendour of style that caught and held wide 
attention. His poems, chiefly legendary and historical, are vivid, 
graphic, memorable ; his essays, mostly reviews of biographical 
works, are treasuries of historical fact and suggestive criticism ; 
his great work, "The History of England," while, like all his 
writings, pungently partisan and coloured by his own preferences, 
seized upon the admiration of the English-speaking world, by its 
wonderful picturesqueness, and is an entrancing book. The extract 
below is from his Essay on " Milton," published in the Edinburgh 
Review in Macaulay's twenty-fifth year, the production which gave 
him his first fame. 



^cJ^C^^i^KiP 



104 



^ _• • • • • ^ ^« ^i ^« 



£L 



THOMAS BABINGTON, LORD MACAULAY 



'' 



THE PURITANS 

THE Puritan was made up of two different men, 
the one all self-abasement, penitence, gratitude, 
passion ; the other proud, calm, inflexible, sa- 
gacious. He prostrated hiinself in the dust 
before his Maker ; but he set his foot on the neck of his 
king. In his devotional retirement, he prayed with con- 
vulsions, and groans, and tears. He was half maddened 
by glorious or terrible illusions. He heard the lyres of 
angels, or the tempting whispers of fiends. He caught 
a gleam of the Beatific Vision, or woke screaming from 
the dreams of everlasting fire. Like Vane, he thought 
himself intrusted with the sceptre of the millennial year. 
Like Fleetwood, he cried in the bitterness of his soul 
that God had hid his face from him. But when he took 
his seat in the council or girt on his sword for war, these 
tempestuous workings of the soul had left no perceptible 
trace behind them. People, who saw nothing of the 
godly but their uncouth visages, and heard nothing from 
them but their groans and their whining hymns, might 
laugh at them. But those had little reason to laugh who 
encountered them in the hall of debate, or on the field 
of battle. These fanatics brought to civil and military 
affairs a coolness of judgment and an immutability of 
purpose which some writers have thought inconsistent 
with their religious zeal, but which were in fact the 
necessary effects of it. The intensity of their feelings 
on one subject made them tranquil on every other. One 
overpowering sentiment had subjected to itself pity and 




105 
• • • • --• • _• --^* _• • 



^ 



^ :^rsxs}a:}a:>a:>a:x]:3 



^S£ 



^^ THOMAS BABINGTON, LORD MACAULAY /><[ 

,^ hatred, ambition and fear. Death had lost its terrors • ^ 
f \ and pleasure its charms. They had their smiles and ^ \ 
^ "# their tears, their raptures and their sorrows, but not for t> rM 
^ (^ the things of this world. Enthusiasm had made them •. ,0 
I \ Stoics, had cleared their minds from every vulgar passion L Jk 
r * and prejudice, and raised them above the influence of % ^ 
'/' \ danger and of corruption. It sometimes might lead •> ^ 
g" "m them to pursue unwise ends, but never to choose un- K, ^ 
> ,m wise means. They went through the world like Sir J ^ 
\ ArtegaVs iron man Talus with his flail, crushing and i^\ 
^ trampling down oppressors, mingling with human be- %^ <0 
»> •• ings, but having neither part nor lot in human infirmi- ♦y ^ 
' \ ties ; insensible to fatigue, to pleasure, and to pain, not C \ 
^ -^ to be pierced by any weapon, not to be withstood by any \ / 
►.^ ^# barrier. •> f^ 

[ \ Such we believe to have been the character of the L \ 
\ -f Puritans. I '9 

\ {* *> /■• 

L J MILTON |> ^ 

^ \ Milton did not strictly belong to any of the classes / \ 
k ^ which we have described. He Avas not a Puritan. He %^ # 
►.^ ^ was not a free-thinker. He was not a Royalist. In his •% <;• 
f \ character the noblest quality of every party were com- K, ^ 
^ "0 bined in harmonious union. From the Parliament and J ^ 
►v ^» from the Court, from the Conventicle and from the /^ 'v 
[ \ Gothic Cloister, from the gloomy and sepulchral circles ^ ^ 
K" y of the Roundheads, and from the Christmas revel of the » ^ 
K ^« hospitable Cavalier, his nature selected and drew to itself / \ 
r \ whatever was great and good, while it rejected all the ^ ^ 
r y base and pernicious ingi'cdients by which those finer J ^ 
»- « elements were defiled. Like the Puritans, he lived — >■^ ''v 

L^ J "As ever in his great task-master's eye." ^ '^ 

tp 106 ; ; 



/ \ THOMAS BABINGTON, LORD MACAULAY /^ 'jT 

•> y'» Like them, he kept his mind continually fixed on an J ^ 
/ \ Almighty Judge and an eternal reward. And hence •^ ^\ 
% ^ he acquired their contempt of external circumstances, ^ ^ 
} IV their fortitude, their tranquillity, their inflexible resolu- ••> >•• 
A, ^ tion. But not the coolest skeptic or the most profane ^ \ 
J ^ scoffer was more perfectly free from the contagion of % • 
/ \ their frantic delusions, their savage manners, their ludi- ^ f^ 
^ "^ crous jargon, their scion of science, and their aversion frv ,S 
•x /•• to pleasure. Hating tyranny with a perfect hatred, J ^ 
I I he had nevertheless all the estimable and ornamental /J \ 
%■ w qualities which were almost entirely monopolised by %^ '^ 
•> ^ the party of the tyrant. There was none who had a ^\/* 
f \ stronger sense of the value of literature, a finer relish jL \ 
%'• for every elegant amusement, or a more chivalrous * ■^ 
•> f<^ delicacy of honour and love. Though his opinions *\ f* 
L, 1 were democratic, his tastes and his associations were K \ 
"zs ^^'^^ ^^ harmonise best with monarchy and aristocracy. J ^ 
^ f^ He was under the influence of all the feelings by which >> <T 
^ ^ the gallant Cavaliers were misled. But of those feel- ^ <\ 
^ ings he was the master and not the slave. # # 

L, 1 From the Essay on " Milton." ^ i^ 






V) 



yi^ 



^}a::a:}xa:xs!a:n: ^ 



:^)^ 



Amory Howe Bradford 

1848- 

Dr. Bradford — in the eighth generation a direct descendant of 
old Governor William Bradford of the " Mayflowei-" — is a preacher 
of to-day, with a genius for direct, positive, influential appeal by 
pen and voice. He is pastor of a Congregational church in 
Montclair, N. J., but is known all over the country, especially in 
the great universities, as a thinker that young men will heed. He 
has published a number of books, all breathing the liberal spirit 
of the time, enriched with the results of reading and travel, clear in 
thinking, terse in expression, convincing in treatment. He avoids 
. negation and disputation, and proclaims a cheerful belief in the 
love of God and the growing goodness of man. 



Iw 



RESULTS OF PURITANISM ^ 

HAT has been the effect of Puritanism on 
the world ? To ask that question is to an- 
swer it. It fought the priesthood in the 
Hebrew times, and insisted on genuineness 
and spirituahty. It was personified in John Calvin when 
he wrought to perfect expression the truth that every 
y/r individual may come into the immediate presence of 
rj\ God and is responsible to him alone. It inspired the 
Vv Puritan Revolution. It sent the Pilgrims to Plymouth. 
It made this nation a republic, and has dominated the 
whole British Empire, so that the Union Jack stands 
for a liberty quite as ample as that represented by the 
Stars and Stripes. 

At one time Puritanism seemed synonymous with 
-^. narrow theology, bigotry, witch-burning, sanctimoni- 
Qryij ousness, spiritual despotism. That was because its 
Lvo principles had not had time to work into life and insti- 
Ivyt tutions. Freedom of thought is now reaUsed wherever 

\JQ 108 



\ 



^ 



AMORY HOWE BRADFORD 



Puritanism is in control. The fact that men are respon- 
sible to God alone, and therefore that no earthly sover- 
eign has any divine right, has undermined or limited 
every throne in Europe. . . . Puritanism is a spirit, 
but a spirit which has always found expression in men 
and institutions — and what men and institutions have 
sprung into being at its touch ! There were all the 
heroes of the Puritan Revolution in England — Hamp- 
den, Pym, Sir Harry Vane, John Howe and John 
Owen, Milton, the seer and prophet as well as the poet 
of the Commonwealth, and Cromwell, the kingliest 
soul that ever ruled Great Britain. In later days there 
have been such men as Bright in Parliament, Gordon 
in the field, Dale, Maclaren, and Spurgeon in the pul- 
pit, and Robert Browning among the poets. The his- 
tory of America in large part is either the history of 
Puritanism, or of those who were made great by its 
ideals. Ideally this Republic rests on these four corner- 
stones : the right and privilege of the individual to come 
into the immediate presence of God ; absolute freedom 
in all matters of religion ; righteousness of character 
essential to public service ; and, the universal brother- 
hood of man. These truths have commanded the loy- 
alty of the best men in our churches ; they have 
inspired our noblest preachers ; they thrill in the music 
of poets like Lowell, Whittier, Longfellow ; they are 
recognised by so many of our politicians as have learned 
that the State was made for man and not man for the 



The most beneficent and enduring element in 



State. 

the political, social, literary, religious life of the world 
for two hundred years either has been the expression of 
the Puritan spirit or from it has received inspiration. 

From " Puritan Principles and the Modern World." 

109 










^ John Bartholomew Goug-h K} 

1817-1886 e^ 

Bom in England, Gough came to America at twelve years of 
age, and, first at farm-work and later at book-binding, earned his 
living. But despite a wife and child he fell into the drink-habit 
and became a seemingly hopeless drunkard. Induced to sign the 
pledge, he reformed, and became a noted temperance advocate ; 
but fell again into grovelling drunkenness. He then arose once 
more, and not only maintained his manhood but devoted his life 
to the temperance work, and by his eloquence — dramatically 
ranging from irresistible fun to equally effective pathos and vigor- 
ous sense — he won vast numbers from drink to decency. The 
glowing oratory of his public addresses cannot easily be repro- 
duced in brief, but the following fragment shows something of his 
use of the personal and the religious elements in his appeals. 



I 



DRUNKENNESS 

WENT and stood by her bedside. . . . "Luke,' 
said she, " is a kind husband and a good father : 
he takes care of the children and is very kind to 
them ; but the drink. Oh ! the drink makes terri- 
ble difficulty." . . . The man shook like a leaf; he 
snatched his hand from the grasp of his wife, tore down 
her night-dress from her shoulder, and said, " Look at 
that ! " and on her white, thin neck, close to the 
shoulder, was a bad mark. Said he, " Look at that, sir ! 
I did it three days before she was taken down upon the 
bed ; and she has told you she had a good husband. 
Am I ? Am I a good husband to her ? God Almighty 
forgive me ! " and he wept like a child, gripped the bed- 
clothes in his hand, and hid his face in them. . . . 

These are the men we call brutes and fiends; strip 
from them the accursed power of the drink, and they 

no 



^ JOHN BARTHOLOMEW GOUGH 

yi are men, with hearts as warm, and feeUngs as tender, 
Mf and sensibihties as keen as yours. Oh ! the terrific 
^ power of this fearful habit, in enslaving the man — in 
^ reducing him below the level of the brutes that perish. 
Y^ Oh ! when 1 think of intemperance, the curse of the 
gp' land ; intemperance, that wipes out God's image, and 
Q stamps it with the counterfeit die of the devil ; intem- 
S^ perance, that smites a healthy body with disease from 
l) head to heel, and makes it more loathsome than the 
^ leprosy of Naaman, or the sores of Lazarus ; intemper- 
^ ance, that dethrones man's reason ; . . . intemperance, 
R that has sent its thousands and tens of thousands into 
•Ur the drunkard's grave and the drunkard's eternity ; in- 
■?! temperance, filling your jails, and your almshouses, and 
^ your lunatic asyluins ; — oh ! we might ask the very 
K dead, the drunken dead, to lift the turf above their 
Jm mouldering bones, and come forth, in tattered shrouds 
iKL and bony whiteness, to testify against the sin of intem- 
^ perance ! Come down from the gallows, you spirit- 
tt maddened man-slayer ; grip your bloody knife and 
mw stalk forth to testify against the sin of drunkenness 1 
■^ Crawl from the slimy ooze, ye drowned drunkards, 
Ij^ and with suffbcation's blue and livid lips testify against 
Ijj the sin of intemperance ! Snap your burning chains, 
Zu ye denizens of the pit, and come forth sheeted in fire, 
and testify, testify against the deep damnation of the 
sin of intemperance ! It is pitiful — God forgive us ! 
It is rolling over the land like a burning tide of desola- 
tion ; and we plead with young men, that they never 
subject themselves to this bondage, that they may do 
what in them lies to build a waU of prevention between 
it and their fellows. 



J^ 



From Address to Young Men's Christian Association, in London. 
Ill 



Wendell Phillips 

1811-1884 

One of the most noted of American reformers and orators, this 
son of an aristocratic Boston family, after some years' practice as 
a lawyer, revolted against his professional oath to support the 
Constitution of the United States, as interpreted by the Supreme 
Court of that day (1839), and devoted himself to the anti-slavery 
cause. He and William Lloyd Garrison were the recognised 
leaders of the extreme abolitionists, and Phillips, by the power of 
his oratory — keen and polished £is a rapier — was a large factor 
in arousing the anti-slavery spirit of the North before the war. 
After it, with slavery ended, he took up the advocacy of temper- 
ance, women's rights, labour, and other reform movements. As a 
lyceum lecturer, he always attracted and held thronged audiences. 



THE HERO OF HAYTI 

YOU remember, Macaulay says, comparing Crom- 
well with Napoleon, that Cromwell shows the 
greater military genius, if we consider that he 
never saw an army until he was forty ; while 
Napoleon was educated from a boy in the best military 
schools in Europe. . . . But, says Macaulay, with such 
disadvantages, the Englishman showed the greater 
genius. Whether you allow the inference or not, 
you will at least grant that it is a fair mode of 
measurement. Apply it to Toussaint. Cromwell 
never saw an army till he was forty ; this man never 
saw a soldier till he was fifty. Cromwell manufactured 
his own army — out of what ? Englishmen — the best 
in Europe. Out of the middle class of English- 
the best blood in the island. And with it he 
quered what ? Englishmen — their equals. This 

112 



^^^ his own 
ptjl blood ii 
y/n men — 
'/A conquei 



# 



WENDELL PHILLIPS 



I 



man manufactured his army, out of what ? Out of 
what you call the despicable race of negroes, debased, 
demorahsed by two hundred years of slavery ; one 
hundred thousand of them imported into the island 
within four years, unable to speak a dialect intelli- 
gible to each other. Yet out of this mixed, and, as ^^ 
you say, despicable, race he forged a thunderbolt, and pj^ 
hurled it at what ? At the proudest blood in Europe, yT/T, 
the Spaniard, and sent him home conquered ; at the ^/n 
most warlike blood in Europe, the French, and put /rVj 
them under his feet ; at the pluckiest blood in Europe, \)SL. 
the English, and they skulked home to Jamaica. \\T 

I would call him Napoleon, but Napoleon made his ^A| 
way to empire over broken oaths and through a sea ^^ 
of blood. This man never broke his word. ... I yjl 
would call him Cromwell, but Cromwell was only a f^\ 
soldier, and the state he founded went down with T/y 
him into his gi'ave. I would call him Washington, ^> 
but the great Virginian held slaves. This man risked /K 
his empire rather than permit the slave-trade in the |rVl 
humblest viUage of his dominions. ryvN 

You think me a fanatic to-night, for you read history, ^ff 
not with your eyes, but with your prejudices. But fifty ,^A/ 
years hence, when Truth gets a hearing, the Muse of l y 
History will put Phocion for the Greek, and Brutus for w\|\ 
the Roman, Hampden for England, La Fayette for •^Jj 
France, choose Washington as the bright, consummate vfSS 
flower of our earlier civilisation, and John Brown the 1/^ 
ripe fruit of our noon-day, then, dipping his pen in the J/p 
sunlight, will write in the clear blue, above them all, //I 
the name of the soldier, the statesman, the martyr, |v7 
Toussaint L'Ouverture. Ijjn 

From Lecture on " Toussaint L'Ouverture." /vv^ 



^ Richard Salter Storrs, Jr. 2?> 

GVJA 18S1-1900 «^ 

Dr. Storrs bore a distinguished name as a pulpit-orator and 
lecturer. After a year as pastor of a church in Brookline, Mass., 
he went to Brooklyn, N. Y., in 1846, as the first pastor of the 
Church of the Pilgrims, which position he held until his death. 
He published a number of works — most of them issues of his noted 
historical orations, some on educational and religious themes. 
His style was rich in rhetorical splendour. His general ability gave 
him high rank in his religious denomination, which honoured him 
with offices of influence. 



THE POWER OF HEROIC EXAMPLE 



CL 



&1 



cy 



Oj 



K 



LMOST five centuries ago, under the tumbling 
walls of Sempaeh, where Leopold stood with 
4000 Austrians to crush the 1400 Swiss who 
dared to confront him, when again and again 
each rush of the mountaineers had failed to break the 
line of pikemen, and the hberties of the cantons seemed 
reeling into hopeless ruin, with sublimest self-sacrifice, 
one, springing upon the foe with wide-spread arms, 
gathered into his breast a sheaf of spears, and made a 
way above his body for that triumphant valour which 
pierced and broke the horrid ranks, and set a new and 
bloody seal to the rightful autonomy of the mountain 
republics. And tiU Mont Blanc ceases to gi-eet with 
earliest smiles the purpling dawn, and till the Rhone 
runs back to flood its glacial source — the hardy Switzer 
will not forget the daring deed and magic name of 
Arnold Winkelried ! 

More than half way from our day to the flood, — 
before Herodotus read his history, before Nehemiah 
rebuilt Jerusalem, before Cincinnatus was dictator at 

114 



»r RICHARD SALTER STORRS, JR. <f 

^R Rome, — under the shadow of Mount (Eta, upon ^a 
GDA the road from Thessaly south towards Athens and ^^ 
■jP^ towards Argos, a thousand men, Spartans and Thes- Wr 
in^ pians, fell, to a man, unwilling to retreat before the lr<) 

aQL ' There is a contagion in such examples that smites ^^L 
K<^ the souls of generous men. Conscience and reason, ^3^ 
XS^ and every sympathy accepts their lesson. The veil (yQ 
JKi is lifted a new height, where time no more is its 1H| 
jgw narrow domain ; the earth no more its only area ; gSl 
If^j^ where moral greatness is more than wealth, and the Jr 
ySk supreme glory of personal sacrifice attracts, rewards 7cL 
S^} the great endeavor. The cavalry charge at Balaklava Al^ 
tfpr — it may have been in its origin a mistake ; but the ^|^ 
inp impetuous rush to death of those six hundred across the <^J 
C|^ flood of sheeted flame that Russian batteries poured fn 
(M) upon them, will not pass, in its great influence, from fn^ 
/Br English history, tiU the fast-anchored isle has been *9^ 
l^J scuttled and sunk. The palace is richer, and the ^1 
wl^ cottage is comelier in the light of the fact. ^ff 

^jj. Such examples as these become great powers in civi- (^^ 
Mjf lisation. History hurries from the drier details, and is "Pfc 
l^) touched with enthusiasm as she draws near to them. ^a\ 
mV Eloquence delights to rehearse and impress them. The ^f 
Su), songs of a nation repeat their story, and make their tri- ^t 
mSr umph sound again through the silver cymbals of speech. «^ 
[^Q . . . The very household life is exalted ; and the hum- ^^ 
tt^ blest man feels his position higher, and expresses his sense ^H 
iy) of it in a more dauntless bearing, as he sees that heroism IDF 
djr still lives in the world ; that men of his own race and /R> 
[Ccd stuft', perhaps of his own neighborhood even, have faced *^9 
^Br so calmly such vast perils. (y) 



From an " Historical Lecture." 



115 



Elisha Kent Kane 

1820-1857 

Dr. Kane was one of the heroes of whom our navy is proud. 
He served as Surgeon in China and the East Indies, and after- 
wards in Africa, where fever compelled him to leave the sea. He 
served later in Mexico, where he was wounded, and was relieved 
from later Coast-Survey duty to join the first Grinnell Arctic 
Expedition in search of Sir John Franklin, the English explorer. 
On this expedition his services as medical officer were most 
valuable, and his ability so marked that he was selected to com- 
mand the second Grinnell Arctic Expedition, in which he made 
great discoveries and won world-wide honour. He published ac- 
counts (1853 and 1856) of both these expeditions in a simple, 
lucidly graphic style, which gave them wide circulation and made 
fascinating reading. The extract following is from his narrative 
of the second expedition, an incident of their escape from the 
frozen regions, where they had been obliged to abandon their 
vessel. 

HUNGER IN THE ARCTICS 

THINGS grew worse and worse with us ; the 
old difficulty of breathing came back again, and 
our feet swelled to such an extent that we were 
obliged to cut open our canvas boots. But the 
symptom which gave me the most uneasiness was our 
inabiUty to sleep. . . . 

We were now in the open bay, in the full line of the 
gi-eat ice-drift to the Atlantic, and in boats so frail and 
unseaworthy as to require constant baling to keep them 
afloat. 

It was at this crisis of our fortunes that we saw a 
large seal floating — as is the custom of these animals 
— on a small patch of ice, and seemingly asleep. . . . 
Trembling with anxiety, we prepared to crawl down 

116 



ELISHA KENT KANE 



upon him. Petersen, with the large English rifle, jVy 
was stationed in the bow, and stockings were drawn /iM 
over the oars as mufflers, . . . He was not asleep, I W 
for he reared his head when we were almost within wk\ 
rifle-shot ; and to this day I can remember the hard, wj J 
careworn, almost despairing expression of the men's ffA 
thin faces as they saw him move ; their lives de- I Im 
pended on his capture. i^ 

I depressed my hand nervously, as a signal for Peter- jO I 
sen to fire, ... I saw that the poor fellow was para- f^i 
lysed by his anxiety, trying vainly to obtain a rest for \vf 
his gun against the cutwater of the boat. The seal rose lA | 
on his fore-flippers, gazed at us for a moment with fright- wji 
ened curiosity, and coiled himself for a plunge. At that f^^ 
instant, simultaneously with the crack of our rifle, he I U^ 
relaxed his long length on the ice, and, at the very brink ^^ 
of the water, his head fell helpless to one side. . . . *y J 

With a wild yell, each vociferating according to his fiW 
own impulse, the men urged both boats upon the floes. I V? 
A crowd of hands seized the seal and bore him up to J»V | 
safer ice. The men seemed half crazy ; I had not real- ^/I 
ized how much we were reduced by absolute famine, f/j^ 
They ran over the floe, crying and laughing and brand- V/^ 
ishing their knives. It was not five minutes before vi J 
every man was sucking his bloody fingers or mouthing Wij 
long strips of raw blubber. f/5t 

Not one ounce of this seal was lost. . . . That VvT 
night on the large halting-floe, to which in contempt ^i\ 
of the dangers of drifting, we happy men had hauled Vy) 
our boats, two entire planks of the Red Eric were de- k 
voted to a grand cooking-fire, and we enjoyed a rare and ^ 
savory feast. This was our last experience of the dis- J 
agreeable effects of hunger. 

117 \ 






Josiah Gilbert Holland 



1819-1881 

Dr. Holland was among the most deservedly popular writers of 
his day. From 1847 to 1866 he was the editor of the Springfield 
(Mass.) Republican. In 1870 he became editor and part owner 
of the first Scribner's Magazine (which later became the Century 
Magazine^. His earliest fame arose from " Timothy Titcomb's 
Letters to the Young,'" full of good sense in sprightly style. He 
wrote an admired " History of Western Massachusetts," several 
tales, and a number of poems, all received enthusiastically by a 
large public, especially the longer ones, " Bitter-Sweet," "Kathrina,'" 
and "The Mistress of the Manse." A "Life of Lincoln" and 
other books — novels, etc. — were among his works ; but probably 
his letters to young people and his " Plain Talks on Familiar 
Subjects," with their wholesome and cheerful tone, were as accept- 
able and useful as any of his productions. 



118 



JOSIAH GILBERT HOLLAND 



FINDING ONE'S WORK 

I ACCOUNT the loss of a man's life and individu- 
ality, through the non-adaptation or mal-adaptation 
of his powers to his pursuits, the greatest calamity, 
next to the loss of personal virtue, that he can 
suffer in this world. , . . 

If there be one man before me who honestly and con- 
tentedly believes that, on the whole, he is doing that 
work to which his powers are best adapted, I wish to 
congratulate him. My friend, I care not whether your 
hand be hard or soft ; I care not whether you are from 
the office or the shop ; I care not whether you preach 
the everlasting gospel from the pulpit or swing the ham- 
mer over a blacksmith's anvil ; I care not whether you 
have seen the inside of a college or the outside — 
whether your work be that of the head or that of the 
hand — whether the world account you noble or ignoble, 
if you have found your place, you are a happy man. 
Let no ambition ever tempt you away from it by so 
much as a questioning thought. I say, if you have 
found your place, — no matter what or where it is, — 
you are a happy man. I give you joy of your good 
fortune ; for if you do the work of that place well, and 
draw from it all that it can give you of nutriment and 
discipline and development, you are, or you will be- 
come, a man filled up — made after God's pattern — 
the noblest product of the world, — a self-made man. 

From " Plain Talks on Familiar Subjects." 
119 



Charles Dickens 

1812-1870 



Dickens was born a poor boy, had little schooling, learned 
stenography, served as a reporter in the courts and in the House 
of Commons, and at the age of twenty-one began writing stories 
and essays in the magazines, under the title, Sketches by Boz. He 
next wrote the descriptive matter to accompany some comic draw- 
ings by Robert Seymour, resulting in The Posthumotis Papers of 
the Pickwick Club, which in its depiction of the doings and sayings 
of the common people, soon put the illustrations in the second 
place. The monthly numbers sold enormously. "Oliver Twist" 
and " Nicholas Nickleby " soon followed, and Dickens was recog- 
nised as a genius, with a gift for exhibiting phases of life that the 
novelists had let alone. His swiftly written novels, his Christmas 
Stories, his many short tales, his trips to America, spread his fame 
over two continents, and he has been the most popular of authors. 
He was generous to a fault ; and his careful walks about London 
and researches into the lives and miseries of the poor and the 
suffering in all places that he visited, resulted in the exposition in 
his novels of many abuses — governmental and private, in schools, 
hospitals, parish administration, courts, prisons, etc., — and thus 
wrought wide reformation. His sentiment, his pathos, his wit, his 
irresistible original comicality, and his powerful depictions of 
character and plot, must give his work a long vitality. 




THE CIRCUMLOCUTION OFFICE 

THE Circumlocution Office was (as everybody 
knows without being told) the most important 
Department under government. No public 
business of any kind could possibly be done at 
any time, without the acquiescence of the Circumlocu- 
tion Office. Its finger was in the largest public pie, and 

120 



!• • • • ^» 



"c^c:r c^c^ 






ewc^c^^c^G^ 



CHARLES DICKENS 






in the smallest public tart. It was equally impossible 
to do the plainest right and to undo the plainest wrong, 
without the express authority of the Circumlocution 
Office. If another Gunpowder Plot had been discov- 
ered half an hour before the lighting of the match, 
nobody would have been justified in saving the Parlia- 
ment until there had been half a score of boards, half a 
bushel of minutes, several sacks of official memoranda, 
and a family -vault-full of ungi'ammatical correspondence, 
on the part of the Circumlocution Office. . . . What- 
ever was required to be done, the Circumlocution Office 
was beforehand with all the public departments in the 
art of perceiving — HOW NOT TO DO IT. . . . 

It is true that How not to do it was the great study 
and object of all public departments and professional poli- 
ticians all round the Circumlocution Office. It is true 
that every new premier and every new government, com- 
ing in because they had upheld a certain thing as nec- 
essary to be done, were no sooner come in than they 
applied their utmost faculties to discovering, How not 
to do it. . . . It is true that the debates of both 
Houses of Parliament, the whole session through, uni- 
formly tended to the protracted deliberation. How not 
to do it. . . . All this is true, but the Circumlocution 
Office went beyond it. . . . 

Numbers of people were lost in the Circumlocution 
Office. Unfortunates with wrongs, or with projects for 
the general welfare (and they had better have had 
wrongs at first, than have taken that bitter English 
recipe for certainly getting them), who in slow lapse of 
time and agony had passed safely through other public 
departments ; who, according to rule, had been bullied 
in this, over-reached by that, and evaded by the other ; 

121 



}• • • • 






fr-| CHARLES DICKENS 

/ f\ got referred at last to the Circumlocution Office, and i>^ 
^ '% never reappeared in the light of day. Boards sat upon 
#v>^ them, secretai'ies minuted upon them, commissioners 
/ V gabbled about them, clerks registered, entered, checked, 
%" "^ and ticked them off, and they melted away. In short, 
•,> ^.^ all the business of the country went through the Cir- a i^ 
^ ^ cumlocution Office, except the business that never came P 'A 
^ ^ out of it, and its name was Legion. ^ '^ 

I I From "Little Don-it." /J A 

•>^» CHURCH BELLS *\ ? 

%■ "^ High up in the steeple of an old church, far above \ "0 
•■(^ f* the light and murmur of the town and far below the •> ^* 
/ \ flying clouds that shadow it, is the wild and dreary L \ 
V w place at night : and high up in the steeple of an old % 9 
•.>i^ church, dwelt the Chimes I tell of. ^/^^\ 

L, \ They were old Chimes, trust me. Centuries ago, As, \ 
^ ^ these Bells had been baptised by bishops : so many J ^ 
/^ ^v centuries ago, that the register of their baptism was ^ ^. 
». Jm lost long, long before the memory of man, and no one fr> '\ 
J ^ knew their names. They had had their Godfathers and «. ^« 
/ V Godmothers, these Bells (for my own part, by the way, /j \ 
K^-^ I would rather incur the responsibility of being God-% j^ 
•- ,• father to a Bell than a Boy), and had had their silver ^>f^ 
£ \ mugs no doubt, besides. But Time had mowed down^^ 
K" ja their sponsors, and Henry the Eighth had melted down^ ^ 
• II their mugs ; and they now hung, nameless and mugless, ^ <. 
iP \ in the church tower. fv \ 

^-m Not speechless, though. Far from it. They had% w 
^ f clear, loud, lusty sounding voices, had these Bells ;*y* 
/ \ and far and wide they might be heard upon the wind, f^ \ 
j^-jJ Much too sturdy Chimes were they, to be dependent on^ # 



122 • 



^i ^^a::a:}a::a:::r:a::a:: ^ 



/t\ CHARLES DICKENS /Y\ 



5Ji 




pour their cheerful notes into a Hstening _.._ , _ 

/ \ right royally ; and bent on being heard, on stormy Jn f\ 
A, Jm nights, by some poor mother watching a sick child, or ^ ^ 
•> ^ some lone wife whose husband was at sea, they had been ? ^ 
/ \ sometimes known to beat a blustering Nor' Wester ; T^ f\ 
^^ ay, " all to fits," as Toby Veck said ; — for though they |^ -f 
•n /-• chose to call him Trotty Veck, his name was Toby, *■. ^« 
i \ and nobody could make it anything else either (except ^ \ 
%■ ■# Tobias) without a special act of Parliament ; he having J J 
•> ^ been as lawfully christened in his day as the Bells had ^^ C 
/ \ been in theirs, though with not quite so much of solem- K A 
%w nity or public rejoicing. J ^ 

•> ^^ For my part, I confess myself of Toby Veck's belief, ^^ \ 




yY\ ^^^ ^ t^^^ ^^y stand by Toby Veck, although he did /Y\ 
L. J stand all day long (and weary work it was) just outside %^ "^ 
J ^ the church door. In fact, he was a ticket-porter, Toby •> ^* 
y 'V Veck, and waited there for jobs. / \ 

^ J And a breezy, goose-skinned, blue-nosed, red-eyed, * ^ 
•^ ^« stony-toed, tooth-chatting place it was, to wait in, in V] ^ 
/ 1| the winter-time, as Toby Veck well knew. K -^ 

V"^ •.,• 

•v /• From « The Chimes." /''\ 



Henry, Lord Brougham 

1778-1868 

There were few themes of intelligent interest that this brilliant 
lawyer, statesman, orator, scientist, and general author did not 
touch, and what he touched he adorned. Of an ancient English 
family, he was born and educated in Edinburgh, and for some 
years practised law there, where in 1802 he joined Jeffrey, Sydney 
Smith and others in founding the Edinburgh Review. In 1808 he 
went to London and rapidly passed to a high rank as an advocate. 
He entered politics, went to Parliament, became Lord Chancellor 
(and a peer, as Baron Brougham and Vaux) and then continued a 
power in the House of Lords. 

His chief fame was as a law-reformer, and our extract is from a 
famous speech of his on that subject. He was a notable orator, 
a popular favourite, a writer on science, theology, education, charity, 
constitutional law, political economy, and many other things. He 
wrote two admirable biographical series, on statesmen and on 
men of letters and science, and his speeches, essays, and miscel- 
laneous writings remain a treasury of information concerning the 
political and social history of his time. 



HIGHEST DUTY OF A LEGISLATOR 



A 



tFTER a long interval of various fortune, and 
filled with vast events, we are again called to 
the grand labour of surveying and amending 
our laws. For this task, it well becomes us 
to begird ourselves, as the honest representatives of the 
people. Dispatch and vigour are imperiously demanded ; 
but that deliberation, too, must not be lost sight of, 
which so mighty an enterprise requires. When we shall 
have done the work, we may fairly challenge the utmost 
approval of our constituents ; for in none other have 
they so deep a stake. . . . 

124, 



HENRY, LORD BROUGHAM 

The course is clear before us ; the race is glorious to 
run. You have the power of sending your name down 
through all times, illustrated by deeds of higher fame 
and more useful import than ever were done within 
these walls. You saw the greatest warrior of the age — 
conqueror of Italy — humbler of Germany — terror of 
the North — you saw him account all his matchless vic- 
tories poor, compared with the triumph which you are 
now in a condition to win ! — saw him contemn the 
fickleness of Fortune, while, in despite of her, he could 
pronounce his memorable boast — "I shall go down to 
posterity with my Code in my hand ! " You have van- 
quished him in the field ; strive now to rival him in the 
sacred arts of peace I Outstrip him as a law-giver, whom, 
in arms, you overcame I . . , 

It was the boast of Augustus — it formed part of the 
glare, in which the perfidies of his earlier years were lost 
— that he found Rome of brick, and left it of marble ; a 
praise not unworthy a great prince, and to which the 
present reign has its claims also. But how much nobler 
will be our sovereign's boast, when he shall have it to 
say, that he found law dear, and left it cheap ; found it 
a sealed book — left it an open letter ; found it the pat- 
rimony of the rich — left it the inheritance of the poor ; 
found it the two-edged sword of craft and oppression — 
left it the staff of honesty, and the shield of innocence ! 
. . . One power I do prize — that of being the advo- 
cate of my countrymen here, and their fellow-labourers 
elsewhere, in those things which concern the best in- 
terests of mankind. That power, I know full well, no 
government can give — no change take away ! 

From a Speech in Parliament, on " Revision of the Laws." 
125 






William McKinley 

1844-1901 



President McKinley's career, as soldier, lawyer, Governor of 
Ohio, United States Congressman, and head of the National 
Government, is too familiar for rehearsal here. He was a man 
of clear honesty, warm sympathies, excellent ability, untiring 
^ industry in study of the various interests committed to him, and 
SJ* an unusual gift for popular discussion of current political topics. 
As Chairman of the " Committee on Ways and Means " in Congress 
he was identified with the protective customs law known as " The 
McKinley Tariff" ; and, as President, he signed the still more 
strongly protective bill, " The Dingley Tariff," still in operation. 
It was, therefore, the more noticeable that in his last speech, at 
Buffalo, just before his untimely death, he should have taken the 
stand concerning tariff laws — with broad view, " looking before 
and after " — indicated in the following extract. 



126 






WILLIAM McKINLEY 



B 



PROTECTION AND RECIPROCITY 

I USINESS life, whether among ourselves or with LLO 
other peoples, is ever a sharp struggle for sue- 
cess. . . . Without competition we should be ^^ 
clinging to the clumsy and antiquated processes 
of farming and manufacture and the methods of business 
of long ago, and the twentieth would be no further ad- 
vanced than the eighteenth century. But though com- 
mercial competitors we are, commercial enemies we must 
not be. . . . 

Our capacity to produce has developed so enormously, 
and our products have so multiplied, that the problem 
of more markets requires our urgent and immediate 
attention. Only a broad and enlightened policy will 
keep what we have. No other policy will get more. 
... A system which provides a mutual exchange of 
commodities is manifestly essential to the continued 
and healthful growth of our export trade. We must 
not repose in fancied security that we can forever sell 
everything and buy nothing. . . . 

The period of exclusiveness is past. The expansion 
of our trade and commerce is the pressing problem. 
Commercial wars are unprofitable. A policy of good 
wiU and friendly trade will prevent reprisals. Reci- 
procity treaties are in harmony with the spirit of the 
times ; measures of retaliation are not. . . . Let us ever 
remember that our interest is in accord, not conflict ; 
and that our real eminence rests in the victories of peace, 
not those of war. 

From President McKinley's Last Speech, at the Pan-Ameiican 
Exposition, Buffalo, New York, September 5, 1901. 




James Anthony Froude 



1818-1894. 

A distinguished Englishman of letters, Mr. Froude has had the 
fortune — good or bad — to arouse violent discussion as to much 
of his writing. His "History of England" was greatly praised 
as brilliant, picturesque, and rich in detail, but his estimate of 
Henry VIH has been violently attacked. Books of travel, " Short 
Studies on Great Subjects," and other notable works gave him 
high rank, and his " Life and Reminiscences of Carlyle " and edi- 
tion of " Mrs. Carlyle's Letters," as their authenticated executor, 
were very widely read, admired, — and criticised for too great 
frankness. 






128 




JAMES ANTHONY FROUDE 



I 



HENRY THE EIGHTH 

F Henry VHI. had died previous to the first agita- Xu 
_-^, _ tion of the divorce, his loss would have been de- ^-■ 
LuL Jl plored as one of the heaviest misfortunes which had 
\Ai ever befallen the country ; and he would have left 

r^^ a name which would have taken its place in history by 
iVN the side of that of the Black Prince or the conqueror 
,*-«J of Agincourt. Left at the most trying age, with his 
[Wr character unformed, with the means at his disposal of 
Wj^ gratifying every inclination, and married by his ministers 
ff\ when a boy to an unattractive woman far his senior, he 
Vv had lived for thirty-six years almost without blame, and 
/>yk bore through England the reputation of an upright and 
V\r virtuous king. Nature had been prodigal to him of her 
^N[j rarest gifts. In person he is said to have resembled 
AA his grandfather, Edward IV., who was the handsomest 
^/J man in Europe. His form and bearing were princely ; 
jSj and amidst the easy freedom of his address, his manner 
\^ remained majestic. No knight in England could match 
yjP him in the tournament except the Duke of Suffolk ; he 
J \ drew with ease as strong a bow as was borne by any 
Cv yeoman of his guard ; and these powers were sustained 
^Jsj\ in unfailing vigour by a temperate habit and by constant 
iry r exercise. Of his intellectual ability we are not left to 
|NN judge from the suspicious panegyrics of his contempora- 
f\\ ries. His state papers and letters may be placed by the 
)^\ side of those of Wolsey or of Cromwell, and they lose 
^TS nothing in the comparison. Though they are broadly 
t^J different, the perception is equally clear, the expression 
U/n equally powerful, and they breathe throughout an irre- 
Y/j sistible vigour of purpose. In addition to this he had a 



P^ JAMES ANTHONY FROUDE 

Rl fine musical taste, carefully cultivated ; he spoke and 

wM wrote in four languages ; and his knowledge of a multi- 

^) tude of other subjects, with which his versatile ability 

!i| made him conversant, would have formed the reputa- 

qV tion of any ordinary man. He was among the best 

fw physicians of his age ; he was his own engineer, invent- 

n^ ing improvements in artillery, and new constructions in 

9lL ship-building ; and this not with the condescending 

QA incapacity of a royal amateur, but with thorough work- 

Xy manlike understanding. His reading was vast, especially 

^D in theology, . . . 

1^ In private he was good-humoured and good-natured. 

wm His letters to his secretaries, though never undignified, 

r^ are simple, easy, and unrestrained ; and the letters 

^ written by them to him are similarly plain and business- 

^ like, as if the writers knew that the person whom they 

M0 were addressing disliked compliments, and chose to be ' 

■vk treated as a man. . . . 

»? As a ruler he had been eminently popular. All his 

Kj wars had been successful. He had the splendid tastes 

wit in which the English people most delighted, and he had i 

^^ substantially acted out his own theory of his duty. . . . 

H^ It is certain that if, as I have said, he had died before 

'jl the divorce was mooted, Henry VIII., like that Roman 

•W Emperor said by Tacitus to have been consensu oimiium , 

Vj dignus imperii nisi imperasset, would have been con- 

^ sidered by posterity as formed by Providence for the 

iR conduct of the Reformation, and his loss would have 

|fabr been deplored as a perpetual calamity. We must allow 

€^ him, therefore, the benefit of his past career, and be 

Ik careful to remember it, when interpreting his later 

'Jl actions. 



From "The History of England." 
130 



David Hume 

1711-1776 

This philosopher and historian, of Scottish birth, education and 
principal residence (although spending much time on the Conti- 
nent), was widely known as a skeptical metaphysician and moralist. 
His chief claim to permanent renown, however, is his great "His- 
tory of England," from which we make brief extract. 



H 



ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND 

ER vigour, her constancy, her magnanimity, 
her penetration, vigilance, address, are allowed 
to merit the highest praises, and appear not 
to have been surpassed by any person who 
ever filled a throne. A conduct less rigorous, less im- 
perious, more sincere, more indulgent to her people, 
would have been requisite to form a perfect character. 
By the force of her mind she controlled all her more 
active and stronger qualities, and prevented them from 
running into excess. Her heroism was exempt from te- 
merity, her frugality from avarice, her friendship from 
partiality, her active temper from turbulency and a vain 
ambition. She guarded not herself with equal care or 
equal success from lesser infirmities — the rivalship of 
beauty, the desire of admiration, the jealousy of love, 
and the sallies of anger. 

Her singular talents for government were founded 
equally on her temper and her capacity. Endowed 
with a great command over herself, she soon obtained 
an uncontrolled ascendant over her people. . . . Few 
sovereigns succeeded to the throne in more difficult 
circumstances, and none ever conducted the govern- 
ment with such uniform success and feUcity. 

131 



4 IVilliam George Jordan 



1864- 



A graduate of the College of the City of New York, Mr. Jor- 
dan began his literary life as editor of " Book-Chat," and later of 
" Current Literature." For some years engaged in lecturing and 
other literary work, he was in 1897 editor of the Ladies' Home 
Journal, and in 1898-99 of the Saturday Evening Post, of Phila- 
delphia. He has published a number of books, on " Education," 
" Self-Control," " The Power of Truth," etc., and is a vigorous and 
helpful writer, putting into attractive form many ethical and 
spiritual and intellectual truths that the careless are apt to miss, 
but which, under the aptness of his art of putting things, catch 
the attention and find lodgment. 



T 



PERSONALITY 

lHE only responsibility that a man cannot 
evade in this life is the one he thinks of least, 
his personal influence. Man's conscious 
influence, when he is on dress-parade, when 
he is posing to impress those around him, — is woefully 
small. But his unconscious influence, the silent, subtle 
' radiation of his personality, the effect of his words and 
acts, the trifles he never considers, — is tremendous. 
Every moment of life he is changing to a degree the 
life of the whole world. Every man has an atmosphere 
which is affecting every other. So silently and uncon- 
sciously is this influence working, that man may forget 
that it exists. 

132 



WILLIAM GEORGE JORDAN 

All the forces of Nature, — heat, light, electricity and R 
gravitation, — are silent and invisible. We never see 
them ; v^^e only know that they exist by seeing the 
effects they produce. In all Nature the wonders of 
the " seen " are dwarfed into insignificance when com- 
pared with the majesty and glory of the " unseen." 
The great sun itself does not supply enough heat and 
light to sustain animal and vegetable life on the earth. 
We are dependent for neai'ly half of our light and heat 
upon the stars, and the greater part of this supply of 
life-giving energy comes from invisible stars, millions of 
miles from the earth. In a thousand ways Nature con- W 
stantly seeks to lead men to a keener and deeper^ 
realisation of the power and the wonder of the invisible. 

Into the hands of every individual is given a marvel- 
lous power for good or for evil, — the silent, unconscious, W^ 
unseen influence of his life. This is simply the constant W 
radiation of what a man really is, not what he pretends 
to be. Every man, by his mere living, is radiating 
sympathy, or sorrow, or morbidness, or cynicism, or hap- ^ 
piness, or hope, or any of a hundred other qualities. Life ^ 
is a state of constant radiation and absorption ; to exist | 
is to radiate ; to exist is to be the recipient of radiations. 



From "The Majesty of Calmness.' 



133 






)^^^i^^^^^ 



Nathaniel Hawthorne 

1804-1864 



Unquestionably the greatest American genius in romantic fic- 
tion, Hawthorne was a born author. He began literary wori< 
even before entering college, and after graduation spent several 
years in editorial labours and in writing romances and magazine- 
articles. His first collected stories, " Twice-Told Tales," had a 
critical but not a commercial success, when he took a custom- 
house position for a couple of years, and he joined the Brook 
Farm Community for a while. In 1842 he went with his family 
to live at Concord, in the Emerson house, which he made famous 
in " Mosses from an Old Manse," and, retiring to Salem in 1845, 
he issued another series of " Twice-Told Tales " and wrote " The 
Scarlet Letter," a work which gave him an immense impetus, from 
its unquestionable success. Among his lighter but most engaging 
works must be noted " The Wonder Book " — a sweet-spirited, 
sunny, and alluring reproduction for children of the tales of 
Greek mythology. It is impracticable even to name his many 
tales, which found their inspiration largely in the elder day of 
New England, until in 1853 he went to Europe, — fii'st as Con- 
sul at Liverpool and then for some time on the Continent, after 
which (in 1860) he issued " The Marble Faun," a marvellous ro- 
mance of Rome, followed by other European reminiscences. The 
poetic nature of the man, his luxuriant imagination, his control of 
the effects of the supernatural and the weird, his analytical insight 
into character, and his forceful but exquisitely musical style, place 
him far above any other writer of romance. He simply must be 
read. 



134. 



l^^^^^^^^^^^^^S^^ 



NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 



AFTER THE MURDER 




HAT have you done ? " said Miriam, in a 
horror-stricken whisper. 

' of rage was still lurid on 
face, and now flashed out 



The glow 



Donatello's 
again from his eyes. 

" I did what ought to be done to a traitor ! " he 
replied. " I did what your eyes bade me to do, when 
I asked them with mine, as I held the wretch over the 
precipice ! " 

These last words struck Miriam like a bullet. Could 
it be so ? Had her eyes provoked or assented to this 
deed ? She had not known it. But, alas ! looking back 
into the frenzy and turmoil of the scene just acted, she 
could not deny — she was not sure whether it might be 
so, or not — that a wild joy had flamed up in her heart, 
Avhen she beheld her . persecutor in his mortal peril. 
Was it horror ? — or ecstasy ? — or both in one ? Be 
the rnotion what it might, it had blazed up more madly, 
when Donatello flung his victim off" the cliff, and more 
and more, while his shriek went quivering downward. 
With the dead thump upon the stones below, had come 
an unutterable horror. 

" And my eyes bade you do it ! " repeated she. 

They both leaned over the parapet, and gazed down- 
ward as earnestly as if some inestimable treasure had 
fallen over, and were yet recoverable. . . . 

" You have killed him, Donatello ! He is quite 
dead ! " said she. " Stone dead ! Would 1 were so, 
too ! " 

" Did you not mean that he should die ? " sternly 

135 



>• • _• • ^» • • • • 



NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 

asked Donatello, still in the glow of that intelligence 
which passion had developed in him. " There was short 
time to weigh the matter ; but he had his trial in that 
breath or two while I held him over the cliff, and his 
sentence in that one glance, when your eyes responded 
to mine ! Say that I have slain him against your will — 
say that he died without your whole consent — and, in 
another breath, you shall see me lying beside him." 

" O, never ! " cried Miriam. " My own, own friend ! 
Never, never, never ! " 

She turned to him — the guilty, blood-stained, lonely 
woman — she turned to her fellow-criminal, the youth, 
so lately innocent, whom she had drawn into her doom. 
She pressed him close, close to her bosom, with a cling- 
ing embrace that brought their two hearts together, till 
the horror and agony of each was combined into one 
emotion, and that a kind of rapture. 

" Yes, Donatello, you speak the truth ! " said she ; 
" my heart consented to what you did. We two slew 
yonder wretch. The deed knots us together for time 
and eternity, like the coil of a serpent." 

From " The Marble Faun." 



SELF-PUNISHMENT 

Walking in the shadow of a dream, as it were, and 
perhaps actually under the influence of a species of som- 
nambulism, Mr. Dimmesdale reached the spot, where, 
now so long since, Hester Prynne had lived through 
her first hours of public ignominy. The same platform 
or scaffold, black and weather-stained with the storm 
and sunshine of seven long years, and foot-worn, too, 
with the tread of many culprits who had since as- 

136 





NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 

cended it, remained standing beneath the balcony of 
the meeting-house. 

It was an obscure night of early JSIay. An unvaried 
pall of cloud muffled the whole expanse of sky from 
zenith to horizon. If the same multitude which had 
stood as eye-witnesses while Hester Prynne sustained 
her punishment could now have been summoned forth, 
they would have discerned no face above the platform, 
nor hardly the outline of a human shape, in the dark 
grey of the midnight. But the town was all asleep. 
There was no peril of discovery. . . . No eye could see 
him, save that ever-wakeful one which had seen him in 
his closet, wielding the bloody scourge. . . . He had 
been driven hither by the impulse of that Remorse 
which dogged him everywhere, and whose own sister 
and closely linked companion was that Cowardice which 
invariably drew him back with her tremulous gripe, 
just when the other impulse had hurried him to the 
verge of a disclosure. . . . 

And thus, while standing on the scaffold, in this vain 
show of expiation, Mr. Dimmesdale was overcome with 
a great horror of mind, as if the universe were gazing 
at a scarlet token on his naked breast, right over his 
heart. [Hester, his companion in error, had been con- 
demned to wear upon the bosom of her dress the scarlet 
letter A, signifying Adulte7~ess.'\ On that spot, in very 
truth, there was, and there long had been, the gnawing 
and poisonous tooth of bodily pain. Without any effort 
of his will, or power to restrain himself, he shrieked 
aloud. . . . " It is done ! " muttered the minister, 
covering his face with his hands. "The whole town 
will awake, and hurry forth, and find me here I " 

From " The Scarlet Letter." 






if) i 

I.-! Charles Lamb t^ 

L^ 1775-1834 / jl 

' ' 1 TViprp is a nernliar charm in evervthino- wn'tipn Viv CViarlps /" > \ 



o 



There is a peculiar charm in everything written by Charles 
Lamb. His gentle nature humanised his keen perceptions and 



Q 



^ shrewd, critical faculty, so that his wit carried no sting, his humour #. ,♦ 

y^ 'v no coarseness, his intelligent comprehension of men, literature, and /• ' V 

^ h events no harshness of j udgment. His life-long devotion to his fr^ ^ 

% "^ sister Mary, afflicted with occasional lapses into insanity, his col- ' ^ 

•> ^ laboration with her in several juvenile works, including the ever- T^ ''v 

/ 1 popular " Tales from the Plays of Shakespeare," and the unvarying fy \ 

% "ff tributes to his social delightfulness by all who knew him, have % w 

^^\/^* made his name a synonym for goodness and rare, friendly fellow- *%/• 

/ \ ship. He was something of a poet, an agreeable teller-of-tales, a / \ 

fr' '^ dramatist of interest though not of power, a clear-headed book- % 

•. ^ pditoT. and a man p-ifted with extraordinarv snnial talent as a: crm- •v /^ 



^ editor, and a man gifted with extraordinary social talent as a con- •>. /* 

y^ ' \ versationalist. This latter characteristic is probably the element / \ 

Ik Jjk that goes to make his " Essays of Elia " the most famous of all his |p ^ 

a? « '^^'^rks. Acute in observation, quaint in expression, Addisonian in •s ^» 

j' Tv a simple elegance of style, they traverse a multitude of topics with / ' \ 

4. Jj never-failing ease and grace, not lacking a wholesome vigour. ^ g 

% ^ They are probably more widely read and appreciated to-day than ••. ,^ 

*\ /* ever before. / \ 



'/\ CHARLES LAMB /^\ 

Ca the borrower L\ 

/ \ ^ i A^^ human species, according to the best theory /N ''v 
w-m I 1 can form of it, is composed of two distinct t" ■^ 
»^ ^# 1^ races, f/?e men who borrow and the men who ^ ^ 
I \ lend. To these two original diversities may / \ 

b "# be reduced all those impertinent classifications of Gothic v • 
•>^? and Celtic tribes, white men, black men, red men. All •s^y 
I J the dwellers upon earth, " Parthians and Medes and K A 
\ ■• Elamites," flock hither, and do naturally fall in with one ^ % 
y"^ 1^ or the other of these preliminary distinctions. The in- y-^ "w 
I 1 finite superiority of the former, which I choose to dis- J^ ^ 
% "» tinguish as the great race, is discernible in their figure, ^ ^ 
^> f^ port, and a certain instinctive sovereignty. The latter /■ A 
L> Jare born degraded. "He shall serve his brethren." ^ 'y 

" ^ ^Wtprf^ ic Qrimp+liinrr in tViF> siir nf r>nf> nf thic nnct Ipnn .a ^ 



^ There is something in the air of one of this cast, lean ^ 
r" '\ and suspicious ; contrasting with the open, trusting, un- / \ 
t- -M suspicious manners of the other. %" # 

% Observe who have been the greatest borrowers of all •> f* 
i I ^g^s — Alcibiades — FalstafF — Sir Kichard Steele — our £^ \ 
\ -^ late incomparable Brinsley [Sheridan] — what a family j! ^ 
•> /-• likeness in all four ! A \. 

/ \ What a careless, even deportment hath your bor- t- -^ 
%" "w rower ! what rosy gills ! what a beautiful reliance on tv /•• 
•>y ^* Providence doth he manifest, — taking no more thought / \ 
L \ than lilies ! What contempt for money, — accounting % J 
%" # it (yours and mine especially) no better than dross ! *^ ^ 
•v ^« what a liberal confounding of those pedantic distinctions K \ 
/ \ of meum and tuum ! or rather, what a noble simplification k 
^y of language (beyond Tooke), resolving these supposed •>. /• 
*\/-^ opposites into one clear, intelligible pronoun adjective ! / \ 
Ljk — What near approach doth he make to the primitive ^ <^ 
%'3 1S9 J \ 



CHARLES LAMB 



m 



community, — to the extent of one-half of the principle 
at least ! 

He is the true taxer, who " calleth up all the world to 
be taxed," and the distance is as vast between him and 
one of us, as subsisted between the Augustan Majesty 
and the poorest obolary Jew that paid tribute-pittance 
at Jerusalem ! — His exactions, too, have such a cheer- 
ful, voluntary air ! So far removed from your sour 
parochial or State-gatherers, — those inkhorn varlets, 
who carry their want of welcome in their faces ! He 
eometh to you with a smile, and troubleth you with no 
receipt ; confining himself to no set season. Every day 
is his Candlemas, or his Feast of Holy Michael. He ap- 
plieth the lone tormentum of a pleasant look to your 
purse, — which to that gentle warmth expands her 
silken leaves, as naturally as the cloak of the traveller, 
for which sun and wind contended. ... In vain the 
victim, whom he delighteth to honour, struggles with 
destiny ; he is in the net. Lend therefore cheerfully, 
O man ordained to lend — that thou lose not in the 
end, with thy worldly penny, the reversion promised. 
Combine not preposterously in thine own person the 
penalties of Lazarus and of Dives ! — but when thou 
seest the proper authority coming, meet it smilingly, as 
it were half-way. Come, a handsome sacrifice ! See 
how light he makes of it ! Strain not coui'tesies with a 
noble enemy ! 

From "The Two Great Races of Men " (Essays of Elia). 



CHILDREN 

When I consider how little of a rarity children are, 
that every street and blind alley swarms with them, 

140 



CHARLES LAMB 



that the poorest people commonly have them in most 
abundance, that there are few marriages that are not 
blest with at least one of these bargains, how often they 
turn out ill, and defeat the fond hopes of their parents, 
taking to vicious courses, which end in poverty, disgrace, 
the gallows, etc., I cannot for my life tell what cause for 
pride there can possibly be in having them. If they 
Q(\ were young phoenixes, indeed, that were born but one 
ry in a year, there might be a pretext. But where they 
vSa, are so common ! . . . 

y\ "Like as the arrows in the hand of the giant, even 
>Vj so are the young children." So says the excellent office 
y\M in our Prayer Book appointed for the churching of 
I// "^^omen. " Happy is the man that hath his quiver full 
y/p of them." So say I ; but then don't let him discharge his 
fn quiver upon us that are weaponless ; let them be arrows, 
rtj but not to gall and stick us. . . . When you come into 
T^ a house which is full of children, if you happen to take 
|H|( no notice of them (you are thinking of something else, 
NNb perhaps, and turn a deaf ear to their innocent caresses), 
|Y\ you are set down as untractable, morose, a hater of 
^jX children. On the other hand, if you find them more 
y\l than usually engaging, if you are taken with their pretty 
l/y manners, and set about in earnest to romp and play with 
yP them, some pretext or other is sure to be found for send- 
VL ing them out of the room : they are too noisy or bois- 

Cv terous, or Mr. does not like children. . . . 

C/\ But children have a real character and an essential 
being of themselves. They are amiable or unamiable 
per se. I must love or hate them as I see cause for 



either in their qualities. 

From " A Bachelor's Complaint of 
People " (Essays of Elia). 

141 



the Behaviour of Married 






Thomas d e Quincey ^ 



1786-1859 



A man of fine scholarship, De Quincey, born in Manchestei", 
educated at Oxford, was throughout his life the victim of opium, 
which, while it at times inspired him to magnificent writing, par- 
alysed his will, and he left no continuous work as his monument. 
He was an unusually brilliant magazine-writer, and his learning, 
his keen critical sense, his philosophical originality, his shrewd 
humour, all set forth with a style of remarkable splendour, found 
their outlet through his multifarious articles for the reviews and 
periodicals of the day. His " Confessions of an English Opium- 
Eater " remains his most famous work. 



A 



THE LATER EFFECTS OF OPIUM 

FTEE, describing his natural repulsion at 
Oriental scenes, institutions and habits, the 
author tells how they haunted him in his 
visions. 
^?5> Under the connecting feeling of tropical heat and ver- 
tical sunlight, I brought together all creatures, birds, 
beasts, reptiles, all trees and plants, usages and appear- 
ances, that are found in aU tropical regions, and as- 
JJ> sembled them together in China or Indostan. From 
kindred feelings, I soon brought Egypt and all her gods 
under the same law. I was stared at, hooted at, grinned 
at, chattered at, by monkeys, by paroquets, by cocka- 
toos. I ran into pagodas ; and was fixed, for centuries, 
at the summit or in secret rooms ; I was the idol ; I was 
the priest ; I was worshipped ; I was sacrificed. I fled 
from the wrath of Brama through all the forests of Asia ; 

142 



% THOMAS DE QUINCEY 

\| Vishnu hated me ; Seeva laid wait for me. I came sud- 
Ui denly upon Isis and Osiris : I had done a deed, they said, 
^ which the ibis and the crocodile trembled at. I was 
% buried, for a thousand years, in stone coffins, with 
'Ci mummies and sphinxes, in narrow chambers at the heart 
y of eternal pyramids. I was kissed, with cancerous kisses, 
/^ by crocodiles ; and laid, confounded with all unutterable 
Ik slimy things, amongst reeds and Nilotic mud. . . . The 
iT main agents were ugly birds, or snakes, or crocodiles ; 
^ especially the last. The cursed crocodile became to me 
^ the object of more horror than almost all the rest. I 
R was compelled to live with him ; and (as was always the 
Uf case almost in my dreams) for centuries. I escaped 
^ sometimes, and found myself in Chinese houses, with 
t^ cane tables, etc. All the feet of the tables, sofas, etc., soon 
[1 became instinct with life : the abominable head of the 
^ crocodile, and his leering eyes, looked out at me, multi- 
y^ plied into a thousand repetitions : and I stood loathing 
1^ and fascinated. And so often did this hideous reptile 
1^ haunt my dreams, that many times the very same 
JT dream was broken up in the very same way. I heard 
^ gentle voices speaking to me (I hear everything when 1 
^ am sleeping) ; and instantly 1 awoke : it was broad 
[j noon ; and my children were standing, hand in hand, at 
M my bedside ; come to show me their coloured shoes, or 
w new frocks, or to let me see them dressed for going out. 
^ I protest that so awful was the transition from the croc- 
n odile, and the other unutterable monsters and abor- 
M tions of my dreams, to the sight of innocent human 
U natures and of infancy, that in the mighty and sudden 
k revulsion of mind I wept, and could not forbear, it, as I 
[l kissed their faces. 

^ From " Confessions of an English Opium-Eater." 
P 143 



Jonathan Swift jSl 

1667-1745 tg^ 

Born in Ireland of English parents, Swift was in college-days V^L 
characterised by irregularity and recklessness. But at the age J\\ 
of twenty-one he obtained the post of secretary to Sir William VVi 
Temple, an accomplished diplomatist of England, and during his 
ten years in that position devoted himself to study and extensive 
reading, as well as to his master's political affairs and acquaintance 
with his guests of high official rank, thus acquiring an intimate 
knowledge of public matters. With an Oxford degree of Master 
of Arts, he was ordained priest, and was appointed prebend of 
Kilroot, Ireland. Wearying of this quiet life. Swift returned to 
England and to politics, and through his political connections 
received divers ecclesiastical preferments. Disappointed in expec- 
tations, he left the Whigs and joined the Tories, who thereafter 
had the benefit of his learned, satirical pan. He issued several 
famous books, but his chief contemporary fame was as a political 
'and ecclesiastical pamphleteer. In 1726 he published "Gulliver's 
Travels," a satire on the government and society of his day, 
which caused a great sensation, both politically and for its origi- 
nality and vigorous simplicity of style. 



^T 



THE EMPEROR OF LILLIPUT 

iHE empress and young princes of the blood 
of both sexes, attended by many ladies, sat at 
some distance in their [sedan] chairs ; but 
upon the accident that happened to the em- 
*peror's horse, they alighted, and came near his person, 
which I am now going to describe. He is taller, by al- 
most the breadth of my nail, than any of his court ; 
which alone is enough to strike an awe into the be- 
holders. His features are strong and masculine, with 
an Austrian lip, and arched nose ; his complexion olive, 
his countenance erect, his body and limbs well propor- 
tioned, all his motions graceful, and his deportment 

144 



JONATHAN SWIFT 



1 



«f 



majestic. He was then past his prime, being twenty- 
eight years and three-quarters old, of which he had 
reigned seven in great felicity, and generally victorious. 
For the better convenience of beholding him, I lay on my 
side, so that my face was parallel to his, and he stood 
but three yards off: however, I have had him since 
many times in my hand, and therefore can not be de- 
ceived in the description. His dress was very plain and 
simple, and the fashion of it between the Asiatic and the 
European ; but he had on his head a light helmet of 
gold, adorned with jewels, and a plume on the crest. 
He held his sword drawn in his hand to defend himself, 
if I should happen to break loose ; it was almost three 
inches long ; the hilt and scabbard were gold enriched 
with diamonds. His voice was shrill, but very clear and 
articulate ; and I could distinctly hear it when I stood 
up. The ladies and courtiers were all most magnifi- 
cently clad ; so that the spot they stood upon seemed to 
resemble a petticoat spread on the ground, embroidered 
with figures of gold and silver. His imperial majesty 
spoke often to me, and I returned answers ; but neither 
of us could understand a syllable. There were several of \CQ 
his priests and lawyers present (as I conjectured by their ,Ml 
habits), who were commanded to address themselves to 1 y 
me ; and I spoke to them in as many languages as I had JVfi 
the least smattering of, which were High and Low VJJ 
Dutch, Latin, French, Spanish, Italian, and Lingua CfA] 
Franca ; but all to no purpose. After about two hours \J/ 
the court retired, and I was left with a strong guard, to v/P 
prevent the impertinence and probably the malice of the //I 
rabble, who were very impatient to crowd about me as | vv 
near as they durst. Trylj 

From " Gulliver's Ti-avels : A Voyage to Lilliput." I^Ml 

10 145 />\r 






Laurence Sterne 



1713-1768 



^ 



(9 



Having taken " holy orders,'" and been appointed prebend in 
York Cathedra], Sterne married, and followed his profession as he 
viewed it, "preaching on Sundays, and reading, painting, fiddling, 
or shooting during the week." His tastes were low, and his life 
became so. He published several volumes of Sermons, Letters, etc., 
but his fame rests on " The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, 
Gent," a book of wisdom and of rollicking humour, with a notably 
fine character in Uncle Toby, and many touches of pathos and 
flashes of wit, and with rather rude satire on church and state. It 
is broad jesting for the present-day reader. " A Sentimental Jour- 
ney through France and Italy, by Mr. Yorick," is the other famous 
work of Sterne's, clear and clever in description, and with a curious 
commingling of sensibility and the ludicrous side of that — senti- 
mentality, the comic slants seeming the natural, and the delicate 
touches of sentiment, the artificial, 
talent but poor taste. He died miserable and neglected, 



Sterne was a man of great 



o 



THE CAGED STARLING 

I WAS interrupted in the heyday of this soliloquy 
with a voice which I took to be that of a child, which 
complained it could not get out. I looked up and 
down the passage, and seeing neither man, woman, 
nor child, I went out without further attention. In my 
return back through the passage, I heard the same words 
repeated twice over, and looking up, I saw it was a star- 

146 



LAURENCE STERNE ft 

^ .^^.,^__— __^^^_ if* 

ling hung in a little cage. " I can't get out ! I can't get ^ 
out ! " said the starling. I stood looking at the bird ; ^ 
and to every person who came through the passage it Ti 
ran fluttering to the side toward which they approached In 
it, with the same lamentation of its captivity. " I can't u 
get out ! " said the starling. <^ 

" God help thee ! " said I, " but I '11 help thee out, 4C 
cost what it wiU ; " so I turned about the cage to get If, 
to the door ; — it was twisted and double twisted so m 
fast with wire, there was no getting it open without g3 
pulling the cage to pieces. I took both hands to it. . . . ^ 

I vow I never had iny affections more tenderly awak- 7p 
ened ; nor do I remember an incident in my life where Al* 
the dissipated spirits, to which my reason had been a %p 
bubble, were so suddenly called home. Mechanical as GV 
the notes were, yet so true in tune to nature were they 4Q 
chanted, that in one moment they overthrew aU my /^ 
systematic reasonings upon the Bastile ; and I heavily kI 
walked upstairs, unsaying every word I had said in going <^ 
down them. 4Q 

" Disguise thyself as thou wilt, still, Slavery," said I, rR 
— "still thou art a bitter draught ! and though thousands w[ 
in all ages have been made to drink thee, thou art no Qi 
less bitter on that account. 'T is thou, thrice sweet and ^ 
gracious goddess," addressing myself to Liberty, "whom 7^ 
all, in public or in private, worship ; whose taste is ^n 
grateful, and ever will be so, till Nature herself shall p5 
change." ... ^ 

I burst into tears. — T could not sustain the picture of n^ 
confinement which my fancy had drawn. I started up U^ 
from my chair, and calling La Fleur, I bade him bespeak ^[ 
me a remise, and have it ready at the door of the hotel ^\ 
by nine in the inorning. ... 4Q 

147 Tp 



LAURENCE STERNE 



Whilst the Honorable Mr. 



was waiting for a 



wind at Dover, it [this bird] had been caught upon the 
cliffs, before it could well fly, by an English lad who was 
his groom : . . . At Paris, the lad had laid out a livre in 
a little cage for the starling ; and as he had little to do 
better, the five months his master stayed there, he 
taught it in his mother's tongue the four simple words 
(and no more) to which I owed myself so much its 
debtor. ... 

In my return from Italy, I brought him with me to 

' the country in whose language he had learned his notes ; 

^ and telling the story of him to Lord A, Lord A begged 

' the bird of me ; in a week Lord A gave him to Lord B ; 
Lord B made a present of him to Lord C ; and Lord 
C's gentleman sold him to Lord D's for a shilling ; 

. Lord D gave him to Lord E ; and so on — half round 
the alphabet. From that rank he passed into the lower 
house, and passed the hands of as many commoners. 
But as all these wanted to get in, and my bird wanted 
to get out, he had almost as little store set by him in 
London as in Paris. 



From "A Sentimental Journey." 



UNCLE TOBY 

gM My Uncle Toby, who had rose up an hour before his 
W wonted time, entered the lieutenant's room, and with- 
^k\ out preface or apology sat himself down upon the chair 
•II by the bedside, and independently of all modes and 
iCr. customs, opened the curtain in the manner an old 
W friend and brother officer would have done it, and asked 
A J him how he did, how he had rested in the night, what 

TM^ 148 






LAURENCE STERNE 



was his complaint, where was his pain, and what he 
could do to help him. . . . 

There was a frankness in my Uncle Toby — not the 
effect of familiarity, but the cause of it — which let you 
at once into his soul, and showed you the goodness of 
his nature. To this there was something in his looks 
and voice and manner superadded, which eternally beck- 
oned to the unfortunate to come and take shelter under 
him. So that before my Uncle Toby had half finished 
the kind offers he was making to the father, had the 
son insensibly pressed close up to his knees, and had 
taken hold of the breast of his coat, and was pulling it 
towards him. The blood and spirits of Le Fevre, which 
were waxing cold and slow within him, and were re- 
treating to the last citadel, the heart, sallied back. The 
fihn forsook his eyes for a moment. He' looked up 
AvistfuUy into my Uncle Toby's face, then cast a look 
upon his boy ; and that ligament, fine as it was, was 
never broken. 

Nature instantly ebbed again. The film returned, 
to its place ; the pulse fluttered, stopped, went on 
throbbed, stopped again — moved, stopped — Shall I go j 
on ? No. 

. . . All that is necessary to be added to this chapter 
is as follows : — 

That^ my Uncle Toby, with young Le Fevre in his 
hand, attended the poor lieutenant as chief mourners 
to his grave. 

From " The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gent." 



149 



Oliver Goldsmith 



1728-1774 



It is difficult briefly to depict the extraordinary varieties of 
character and vicissitudes in fortune of this dehghtful, reckless, 
unfortunate, affectionate vagabond, who became one of the chief 
ornaments of English literature. A failure at school, expelled 
from one college and barely graduated from another, rejected as a 
candidate for the clergy, losing at cards the money given him for 
studying law, a quarrelsome tutor, he was, as often befoi-e, indebted 
to a kind uncle for the means provided for his wasted opportuni- 
ties, and at last to study medicine at Edinburgh. He travelled on 
the Continent, and finally took his medical degree, probably at 
Padua, and returned to England in 1756, to starve in London as 
shop-tender for a chemist. But a friend helped him to become 
proof-reader for Samuel Richardson — printer, publisher, and the 
author of "Clarissa" ; and then he began in a small way his writ- 
ing of magazine articles and essays, and soon his working as a 
hack-writer for divers employers. His works became voluminous, 
although largely anonymous, until in the midst of his poverty he 
made the acquaintance of Dr. Johnson, the literary giant of the 
time, whose rescue of poor Goldsmith from an exasperated land- 
lady, by selling for him "The Vicar of Wakefield," is well known. 
After this he came into the company of the wits and literati of the 
town, and soon poured forth his famous poems, " The Traveller," 
and " The Deserted Village " ; his comedies, " The Good Natui-ed 
Man " and " She Stoops to Conquer," and entered upon a variety of 
biographical, historical, and critical works which secured his fame. 
Pock-marked, awkward in person and odd in dress, Goldsmith yet 
won and kept the hearty friendship of many men and worthy 
women. His ever-embarrassed finances oppressed him to the end ; 
but when he died his lodgings were thronged by the poor whom he 

150 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH 

had succoured, and he was profoundly mourned by a multitude of 
loving friends. The exquisite simplicity of Goldsmith's literary 
style did not prevent its conveying the learning, wit, benevolence 
of heart and rare knowledge of human nature that characterised 
him. As Dr. Johnson said of him: "Let not his faults be remem- 
bered : He was a very great man." 



THE VICAR'S FAMILY 

I WAS ever of opinion that the honest man who 
married and brought up a large family, did more 
service than he who continued single and only- 
talked of population. 
From this motive, I had scarcely taken orders a year 
before I began to think seriously of matrimony, and 
chose my wife as she did her wedding gown, not for a 
fine glossy surface, but such qualities as would wear well. 
To do her justice, she was a good-natured notable 
woman ; and as for breeding, there were few country 
ladies who could show more. She could read any Eng- 
lish book without much spelling ; but for pickling, pre- 
serving, and cookery, none could excel her. She prided 
herself also upon being an excellent contriver in house- 
keeping ; though I could never find that we grew richer 
with all her contrivance. 

However, we loved each other tenderly, and our 
fondness increased as we grew old. There was in fact 
nothing that could make us angry with the world or 
each other. We had an elegant house, situated in a 
fine country, and a good neighbourhood. The year was 
spent in moral or rural amusements, in visiting our rich 
neighbours, and relieving such as were poor. We had no 
revolutions to fear, nor fatigues to undergo ; all our ad- 

151 






OLIVER GOLDSMITH 



ventures were by the fireside, and all our migrations 
from the blue bed to the brown. 

As we lived near the road, we often had the traveller 
or stranger visit us to taste our gooseberry wine, for 
which we had great reputation ; and I profess with the 
veracity of an historian, that I never knew one of them 
to find fault with it. Our cousins, too, even to the 
fortieth remove, all remembered their affinity, without 
any help from the herald's oflice, and came very fre- 
quently to see us. . . . 

When any one of our relations was found to be a 
person of very bad character, a troublesome guest, or 
one we desired to get rid of, upon his leaving my house 
I ever took care to lend him a riding-coat, or a pair of 
boots, or sometimes an horse of small value, and I always 
had the satisfaction of finding he never came back to 
return them. By this the house was cleared of such as 
we did not like ; but never was the family of Wakefield 
known to turn the traveller, or the poor dependant, out 
of doors. 

Thus we lived several years in a state of much happi- 
ness ; not but that we sometimes had those little rubs 
which Providence sends to enhance the value of its 
favours. My orchard was often robbed by schoolboys, 
and my wife's custards plundered by the cats or the 
children. The Squire would sometimes fall asleep in 
the most pathetic parts of my sermon, or his lady return 
my wife's civilities at church with a mutilated courtesy. 
But we soon got over the uneasiness caused by such 
accidents, and usually in three or four days began to 
wonder how they vexed us. 

My children, th( offspring of temperance, as they were 
educated without softness, so they were at once well- 

152 



1.^ 




• • • • A • « 



OLIVER GOLDSMITH 



formed and healthy ; my sons hardy and active ; my 
daughters beautiful and blooming. . . . Though I had 
but six, I considered them as a very valuable present 
made to my country, and consequently looked upon it 
as my debtor. 

From •" The Vicar of Wakefield." 



153 



^ :a:x]:^:a:>a:^3::s^3 ^ 




hilip Gilbert Hamerton 

1834-1894 



■ i.i 

^ This interesting English writer spent several studious years m t^ '^ 

,'^ T% France, in the pursuit of art, becoming art-critic for the Saturday ^ ^ 

V \ Review and a frequent contributor to other publications. He wrote /^ fZ 

^ "P many books, all being more or less tinctured with his artistic sensi- |K ^ 

•. ^« bility, even when not — as most of them were — specifically upon J ^ 

'\ subjects connected with the graphic arts. He wrote several charm- A ''v 

k ^ ing tales, a work of French biography, a number of delightful out- |^ ^ 

, "^ door books, etc., but the deepest mark he made was by his book * ^ 

/^ \ " The Intellectual Life," his various works on Art, and his editing ^ ' v 

1 ^ of The Portfolio (which he founded in 1869) until his death. K M 

• /-• *\^* 

/^ \ PRESENT VALUE OF LITERATURE / \ 

*. ^9 ^ H ^HE use of literature cannot merely be to make *\^^* 
/ \ I authors famous and publishers rich. The im- ^ A 
%'§l I portant service it yields to mankind is the 'H? 



•^ ,• 



*^^* peiyetual registering of the experience of the y\^i 

£ \ race. Without literature it is inconceivable that any K ^ 
%" w race of men could reach a degree of culture comparable ^ » 
/^ ^\. ^^ ours, because, without a literature to record it, the ? ' \ 
fc> J experience of dead generations could never be fully v S 
J ' available for the living one. . . . The experience of the *\ f* 
jf^ ''v race is now registered by literature in all its departments, k^ A 
^ J Our novelists paint the manners of their time. . . .% ^ 
* ^ How precious such registers will be in a thousand years ! y^ C 
J\ ^^ Thackeray and Balzac will make it possible for our de- frs A 
L 1 scendants to live over again in the England and France ^ w 
^ ^ of to-day. Seen in this light, the novelist has a higher *\^ f'^ 
/N (^ office than merely to amuse his contemporaries ; he \ 
^-S hands them down all living and talking together to the > V 

^ ^ 154 • j# 



Vi?^' 




. ^_- When the new Houses ^^^ ^ cvii^cvix^w^v, wjt^^ 

L \ and the new Louvre shall be as antique to others as the /} \ 
^ ^ Colosseum is to us, they shall know what manner of men % V 
y '^ ^^^ women first walked under the freshly carved arcades Jn i^^ 
A. Ju of the new palace on the banks of the Seine, and saw K ■^ 
'^ % the tall towers grow year after year like young trees at J ^ 
/^ Westminster. ... /^f\ 

%'9 It may be objected that our contemporary poetry is ^ ■^ 
•<^ /'•no record of our experience. But it is a record of our 's^* 
k J foelings, and these are a part, and a very important part, ^ \ 
V-^ of the experience of all cultivated persons. . . . When J ^ 
•> /^ I come to periodical literature no one will for a moment ^^ ''v 
i i dispute that it is strictly a register of all the thoughts K A 
W w and acts of humanity, day by day, week by week, and ' ^ 
•> r^ month by month. . , . The technical literature which /" ^^ 
^ \ has taken such a vast development of late is, however, ^ -^ 
^ ^ the strongest basis of the argument I wish to enforce. ^ « 
/^ ^\ The immense quantity of books published within the /^ \ 
^ J| last twenty years for the especial use of particular trades %^ '0 
^ ^ and professions is one of the best results of the increase •> ^* 
/ '\ of population, and the consequent increase of professional L \ 
^ 'Jb readers. . . . The first fact that strikes one with regard • ^ 
!ty /-« to their authors is, that they are none of them what A \ 
i \ we call literary men. They are not men who live by ^ -^ 
%" "W literature as a profession ; they live by other trades or #. .« 
*N f^ professions, and resort to literature only as a means of if \ 
/ \ commimicating to others their professional observations. \ ^ 
^ ^ It therefore appears that literature is not an exclusive ©v A 
•v/-ft profession, but a common magazine to which intelligent f.\ 
/ \ men of all classes, and of every occupation, contribute k g 
^ y the results of their particular experience. #. .# 

•;.• lr\ 

/ \ From " Thoughts About Art." jN ^ 



^ xr:a::a:::^:a:::s:a:n: ^ 



i i 

Jean Jacques Rousseau vrr 

1712-1778 JaX 

A character showing an extraordinary combination of weak 
sentimentahty, loose morahty, and shiftlessness, with intellectual 
originality, ingenuity and power, joined to a peculiar charm and 
force of rhetorical expression. Hardly educated, except by desul- 
tory reading, Rousseau was successively an engraver's apprentice, a 
domestic servant, a choir-singer, a surveyor, a music writer, a secre- 
tary, an essayist, a general author. He was much petted by many 
women, of high and low degree, a faithless husband, a neglectful 
father, a social favourite, a man suspicious of all his friends. His 
great pi-oductions were " LaNouvelle Heloi'se'" (an autobiographical 
love story). " The Social Contract " (which became the text-book of 
the French Revolution), and " Emile," advice for the education of 
the young, based upon the idea " Follow Nature " — the principles 
of which, in spite of their exaggerations, are powerfully working in 
all modern educational systems to-day : for this reason he is in- 
cluded in our list, although a foreign author. Rousseau's excellent 
ideas must have arisen by contrast with his own untrained youth 
and conscienceless career. 



SOCIAL TRAINING 

^EOPLE pity the lot of a child ; they do not see 
that the human race would have perished if man 
had not begun by being a child. 

We are born weak ; we have need of strength : 
we are born stupid ; we have need of judgment. All 
that we have not at our birth, but which we need when 
we are grown, is given us by education. 

156 



F 




JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU 

The natural man is complete in himself ; he is the 
numerical unit, the absolute whole, who is related only 
to himself or to his fellow-man. Civilised man is but a 
fractional unit that is dependent upon its denominator, 
and whose value consists in its relation to the whole, 
which is the social organisation. . . . What would a 
man be worth for others who had been educated solely 
for himself? 

In the natural order of things, all men being equal, 
their common vocation is manhood, and whoever is well 
trained for that cannot fulfil badly any vocation con- 
nected with it. Whether my pupil be destined for the 
army, the church or the bar, concerns me but little. 
Regardless of the vocation of his parents, nature sum- 
mons him to the duties of human life. To live, is the 
trade I wish to teach him. . . . 

A father who merely feeds and clothes the children 
he has begotten so far fulfils but a third of his task. To 
the race, he owes men ; to society, men of social dispo- 
sitions ; and to the state, citizens. Every man who can 
pay this triple debt and does not pay it, is guilty of a 
crime, and the more guilty, perhaps, when the debt is 
only half paid. He who cannot fulfil the duties of a 
father has no right to become such. ... 

The proper study for man is that of his relations. 
While he knows himself only through his physical being, 
he ought to study himself through his relation with 
things, and this is the occupation of his childhood ; but 
when he begins to feel his moral nature, he ought to 
study himself through his relations with men, and this is 
the occupation of his entire life, beginning at the point 
we have now reached [adolescence]. 



From "Emile." 



157 






Herbert Spencer 



1820-1903 

This great English philosopher, irregularly educated, and engaged 
Jl^ in railway engineering from his sixteenth to his twenty-sixth year, 
was an insatiable reader, and became interested first in geology, 
g'QI and then in the theory of evolution. He became a scientific editor ; . 
'Or but soon devoted himself to philosophical authorship, enlarging 
^j% the theories of persistent force, adjustment to environment, and 
"" natural selection, to embrace and account for the sequences of all 
phenomena, not only in physics but also in ethics, biology, psychol- 
ogy, and sociology, completing a colossal philosophical system, 
which has had unbounded influence on the thought of the age. 
The following extracts from his famous essay on " Education " 
indicate his method of showing the universality of law. 



Iw 



MORAL TRAINING 

'HEN a child falls, or runs its head against 
the table, it suffers a pain, the remembrance 
of which tends to make it more careful for 
the future ; and by an occasional repetition 
of like experiences, it is eventually disciplined into a 
proper guidance of its movements. ... It is the pecu- 
liarities of these penalties, if we must so call them, that 
they are nothing more than the uiiavoidable conse- 
quences of the deeds which they follow : they are nothing 
more than the inevitable reactions entailed by the child's 
action. . . . 

158 



i^ HERBERT SPENCER 

CV These natural reactions which follow the child's wrong 

iL actions, are constant, du-ect, unhesitating, and not to be 

1^ escaped. No threats : but a silent, rigorous perform- 

^ ance. If a child runs a pin into its finger, pain follows. ' 

K If it does it again, there is again the same result : and , 

nv so on perpetually. In all its dealings with surrounding 

^ inorganic nature it finds this unswerving persistence, 

jk which listens to no excuse, and from which there is no 

Y) appeal ; and very soon recognising this stern though 

fSf beneficent discipline, it becomes extremely careful not 

^ to transgress. . . . 

St Still more significant will these general truths appear, 

Ja when we remember that they hold throughout adult life ' 

|P^ as well as throughout infantine life. It is by an ex- 

Q perimentally-gained knowledge of the natural conse- 

K quences, that men and women are checked when they 

2L go wrong. . . . Have we not here, then, the guiding 

y principle of moral education ? . . . Right conceptions 

^ of cause and effect are early formed ; and by frequent 

jR and consistent experience are eventually rendered definite 

■M> and complete. Proper conduct in life is much better 

SIL guaranteed when the good and evil consequences of ac- 
^ tion are rationally understood, than when they are 

K merely believed on authority. . . . 

lL Another great advantage of this natural system of 

kT discipline is, that it is a system of pure justice ; and will 

J^ be recognised by every child as such. Whoso suffers 

K nothing more than the evil which obviously follows nat- 

IjL urally from his own misbehaviour, is much less likely to 

y think himself wrongly treated than if he suffers an evil 

■^ artificially inflicted on him ; and this will be true of 

■1 children as of men. 



<s 



From '^^ Education.'' 




Thomson Jay Hudson 

1834-1903 

A lawyer, a newspaper editor in the West, for some years prin- 
cipal examiner in the United States Patent Office, and a welcome 
lecturer, Mr. Hudson in 1894 issued his book, " The Law of Psychic 
Phenomena."" In this, with great ability and a striking array of 
facts, physical and mental, normal and abnormal in origin, drawn 
from history, biography, and the records of medical and psychical 
research from ancient times to the present, he offered a notable 
support to the theory of man's duality of mind. The book at- 
tracted wide attention, and in 1894, 1895, 1900, and 1903 was 
followed by others, all dealing with man's present and future life. 



i 



THE DUAL MIND IN SHAKESPEARE 



I HE broad idea that man is endowed with a 

dual mental organisation is far from being 

new. The essential truth of the proposition 

has been recognised by philosophers of all 

ages and nations. . . . 

In general terms the difference between man's two 
minds may be stated as follows : — The objective mind 
takes cognisance of the objective world. Its media of 
observation are the five physical senses. . . . Its highest 
function is that of reasoning. The subjective mind 
takes cognisance of its environment by means indepen- 
dent of the physical senses. It perceives by intuition. 
It is the seat of the emotions, and the storehouse of 
memory. . . . The most perfect exhibition of intel- 
lectual power is the result of the synchronous action 
jyTj of the objective and subjective minds. When this is 
hrj seen in its perfection the world names it ge^iius. . . . 
lo/^ The solution of the great question as to the author- 
4/} ship of Shakespeare's works may be found in this hy- 




THOMSON JAY HUDSON 



pothesis. The advocates of the Baconian theory tell us 
that Shakespeare was an unlearned man. This is true 
so far as high scholastic attainments are concerned ; but 
it is also known that he was a man of extensive reading, 
and was the companion of many of the gi-eat men of his 
time, among whom were Bacon, Ben Jonson, Drayton, 
Beaumont, Fletcher and others. It is in evidence that 
the Mermaid Tavern was the scene of many an encounter 
of wit and learning between these worthies. In this 
way he was brought into constant contact with the 
brightest minds of the Elizabethan age. He was not only 
familiar with their works, but he had also the benefit of 
their conversation, — which familiarised him with their 
thoughts and modes of expression, — and of close per- 
sonal relations with them in their convivial moods, 
when wit and eloquence, learning and philosophy, flowed 
as freely as their wine. 

The internal evidence of his works shows that Shake- 
speare's mind, compared with that of any other poet 
whose writings are known, was the most harmoniously 
developed. In other words, his objective and subjective 
faculties were exquisitely balanced. When this fact is 
considered in the light of what has been said of the 
marvellous powers of subjective memory, and in con- 
nection with his intellectual environment, the source of 
his power and inspiration becomes apparent. In his 
moments of inspiration — and he seems always to have 
been inspired when writing — he had the benefit of a 
perfect memory and a logical comprehension of all that 
had been imparted by the brightest minds of the most 
marvellous literary and philosophical age in the history 
of mankind. 

From " The Law of Psychic Phenomena." 



i 



Willi am Shakespeare 

1564-1616 



iD 



The only absolutely certain facts that we know concerning this 
greatest of poets are : that he was born in Stratford-upon-Avon, 
England, that he was married young and had three children, that 
he went to London, wrote a certain number of poems and dramas, 
was an actor and became a theatrical manager and proprietor ; that 
he was a favourite among the wits and their patrons in London ; 
that he retired to Stratford, purchasing a comfortable residence 
there, and that he died at the age of fifty-two, and was buried in 
the town where he was born. Beyond this, all is conjecture or 
inference from more or less trustworthy traditions or literary allu- 
sions. Shortly after the age of Elizabeth came the Puritan reac- 
tion, that swept plays and players aside ; under Charles II, the 
fashion was for French drama; it was really not till well on in the 
eighteenth century that Shakespeai-e began to be an object of gen- 
eral interest, and by that time the centuries had buried the traces 
of his footsteps. His works, however, remain, and for their wisdom, 
their wit, their art, their beauty, their variety, their marvellous 
" holding the mirror up to nature," they furnish perhaps the most 
perfect example of pure genius that the world has ever seen. 



I 



MENTAL DISTEMPERATURE 

HAVE of late — but wherefore, I know not — lost 
all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises ; and 
indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that 
this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me to be a 
sterile promontory ; this most excellent canopy, the air, 
look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majesti- 
cal roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no 
other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congrega- 
tion of vapours. What a piece of work is a man ! How 
noble in reason ! How infinite in faculties ! in form 

162 



<9J 






WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 



and moving how express and admirable ! in action CQ 
how hke an angel ! in apprehension how hke a god ! 
7D the beauty of the world ! the paragon of animals ! And 
yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust ? Man 
delights me not, no, nor woman neither. 



HAMLET, ON THE ART OF ELOCUTION 

Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to 
>5) you, trippingly on the tongue : but if you mouth it, as 
many of our players do, I had as lief the town-crier 
COJL spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with 
your hand, thus ; but use all gently ; for in the very 
^ torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, whirlwind of your 
passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that 
may give it smoothness. O, it offends me to the soul, 
to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion 
to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the ground- 
lings, who for the most part are capable of nothing but 
inexplicable dumb-shows, and noise ; I would have such 
a fellow whipped for o'er-doing Termagant ; it out- 
herods Herod. Pray you, avoid it. 

Be not too tame, neither, but let your own discretion 
be your tutor : suit the action to the word, the word to 
the action — with this special avoidance, that you o'er- 
W step not the modesty of nature : for anything so over- 
done is from the purpose of playing, whose end, both at 
the first and now, was and is, to hold, as 'twere, the 
mirror up to nature ; to show virtue her own feature, 
scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the 
time his form and pressure. Now this overdone or 
come tardy off, though it make the unskilful laugh, can- 

163 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 



not but make the judicious grieve ; the censure of the 
which one must in your allowance o'erweigh a whole 
theatre of others. O, there be players that I have seen 
play, — and heard others praise, and that highly, — not 
to speak it profanely, that neither having the accent of 
Christians nor the gait of Christian, pagan, nor man, 
have so strutted and bellowed that I have thought some 
of nature's journeymen had made men, and not made 
them weU, they imitated humanity so abominably. 

First Player. I hope we have reformed that indif- 
ferently with us, sir. 

Hamlet. O, reform it altogether 1 



From " Hamlet, Prince of Denmark." 



THE CODE OF QUARREL 

Touchstone. I have had four quarrels, and like to 
have fought one. 

Jaques. And how was that ta'en up ? 

Touch. Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was 
upon the seventh cause. 

Jaq. How seventh cause ? . . . 

Touch. Upon a lie seven times removed. ... I did 
dislike the cut of a certain courtier's beard : he sent me 
word, if I said his beard was not cut well, he was in the 
mind it was : this is called the Retort Courteous. If I 
sent him word again, ' it was not well cut,' he would 
send me word, he cut it to please himself : this is called 
the Quip Modest. If again ' it was not well cut,' he 
disabled my judgment: this is called the Reply Churl- 
ish. If again ' it was not well cut,' he would answer, I 
spake not true : this is called the Reproof Valiant. If 

164 



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 



again ' it was not well cut,' he would say, I lie : this is 
called the Countercheck Quarrelsome : and so to the 
Lie Circumstantial and the Lie Direct. . . . 

O sir, we quarrel in print, by the book ; as you 
have books for good manners : I will name you the 
degrees. The first, the Retort Courteous ; the second, 
the Quip Modest ; the third, the Reply Churlish ; the 
fourth, the Reproof Valianf. ; the fifth, the Counter- 
check Quarrelsome ; the sixth, the Lie with Circum- 
stance ; the seventh, the Lie Direct. AU these you 
may avoid but the Lie Direct ; and you may avoid that, 
too, with an If. I knew when seven justices could not 
take up a quarrel, but when the parties were met them- 
selves, one of them thought but of an If, as ' If you said 
so, then I said so ; ' and they shook hands and swore 
brothers. Your If is the only peace-maker ; much 
virtue in If 

From " As You Like It." 



165 



Samuel John so 



n 



1709-1784 



Like many other great men, Dr. Johnson began his life-work as 
a teacher, but personal peculiarities rendered that a failure, and at 
the age of twenty-six he went to London and for some years eked 
out a miserable existence by literary work. The skill of his poem 
of London, an adaptation to modern life of one of Juvenal's satires, 
gave him his first success, and after that he published poems, plays, 
and in The Rambler (following the design of The Spectator) won 
high place as an essayist and moralist. He also wrote many papers 
for The Adventurer and The Idler. His great work was his " Eng- 
lish Dictionary," the result of seven years of labour. Although 
deficient in etymology (from the limited knowledge of that day) it 
was a potent factor in fixing the forms and meanings of English 
words, originating the quoting of celebrated authors to indicate 
correct use, and was a landmark in the language. Johnson''s later 
years were made easy by a pension ; and his " Lives of the Poets," 
notes of travel to Scotland and the Hebrides, a learned edition of 
Shakespeare's works, and other issues, gave him great vogue, while 
his brilliant conversation — ■ notably preserved in BoswelFs " Life 
of Johnson" — made him a venerated figure among the literary 
classes of his time, and remains a magazine of wisdom and of wit. 



m 



SPELLING REFORM 

IN examining the orthography of any doubtful 
word, the mode of speUing by which it is inserted 
in the series of the dictionary is to be considered as 
that to which I give, perhaps not often rashly, the 
preference. ... In this part of the work, where ca- 
price has long wantoned without control, and vanity 
sought praise by petty reformation, I have endeavoured 

166 



SAMUEL JOHNSON 



to proceed with a scholar's reverence for antiquity, and 
a grammarian's regard to the genius of our tongue. I 
have attempted few alterations, and among those few, 
perhaps the greater part is from the modern to the 
ancient practice ; and I hope I may be allowed to 
recommend to those whose thoughts have been, per- 
haps, employed too anxiously on verbal singularities, 
not to disturb, upon narrow views, or for minute pro- 
priety, the orthography of their fathers. It has been 
asserted that for the law to be known is of more impor- 
tance than to be right. Change, says Hooker, is not 
made without inconvenience, even fi-om worse to better. 
There is in constancy and stability a general and lasting 
advantage, w^hich will always overbalance the slow im- 
provements of gradual corrections. . . . 

This recommendation of steadiness and uniformity 
does not proceed from an opinion that particular combi- 
nations of letters have much influence on human happi- 
ness ; or that truth may not be successfully taught by 
modes of spelling fanciful and erroneous. I am not yet 
so lost in lexicography as to forget that words are the 
daughters of earth, and that things are the sons of 
heaven. Language is only the instrument of science, 
and words are signs of ideas ; I wish, however, that the 
instrument might be less apt to decay, and that the 
signs might be permanent, like the things which they 
denote. 



From The Preface to Johnson's "English Dictionary." 



167 





-^ • • 




A native of Baltiirwre, Poe was left a penniless orphan, but was 
adopted by a generous friend. In college, his reckless excesses, 
despite his brilliant scholarship, resulted in expulsion. After a 
year in Europe, his friend procured his admission to West Point, 
from which his irregularities soon excluded him. Thenceforth Poe 
entered upon a literary career, writing poems and essays, editing 
various magazines, and gaining special recognition by his ingenious 
tales. As an artist in verbal felicity and versification, Poe was 
unique, while the spirit of his poems and tales was mostly of the 
weird, grotesque, and horror-breeding type. His inventiveness was 
amazing, and he has been credited with the origination of the 
detective-tale. As a critic he was caustic ; as a narrator, powerful 
and compelling ; as an essayist, interesting ; as a poet, exquisitely 
musical but rarely inspiring or helpful. His irregularities of life 
bred disease, and he died miserably. His reputation as a literary 
artist has increased rather than diminished, and he must be read 
by those who would know the force of literary genius. 



• 9 - - 



cw gfc^ cr^ Ow cw ow e^ gfc^ G^ <sw 
EDGAR ALLAN FOE 




THE POETIC PRINCIPLE 

I WOULD define, in brief, the Poetry of words as 
The Rhythmical Creation of Beauty. Its sole ar- 
biter is Taste. With the Intellect or with the 
Conscience it has only collateral relations. Unless 
incidentally, it has no concern whatever either with Duty 
or with Truth. 

A few words, however, in explanation. That pleasure 
which is at once the most pure, the most elevating, 
and the most intense, is derived, I maintain, from the 
contemplation of the Beautiful. In the contemplation 
of Beauty we alone find it possible to attain that 
pleasurable elevation, or excitement of the soul, which 
we recognise as the Poetic Sentiment, and which is so 
easily distinguished from Triith, which is the satisfaction 
of the Reason, or from Passion, which is the excitement 
of the heart. I make Beauty, therefore — using the 
word as inclusive of the sublime — I make Beauty the 
province of the poem, simply because it is an obvious 
rule of Art that effects should be made to spring as 
directly as possible from their causes : — no one as yet 
having been weak enough to deny that the peculiar 
elevation in question is at least most readily attainable 
in the poem. It by no means follows, however, that 
the incitements of Passion, or the precepts of Duty, or 
even the lessons of Truth, may not be introduced into a 
poem, and with advantage ; for they may subserve inci- 
dentally, in various ways, the general purposes of the 

169 






JiA. 'C'nn \Vt ATT A AT T>r»T? •\/'* 



/V\ EDGAR ALLAN POE JTv 

0^ j^ work : but the true artist will always contrive to tone* ^ 

/ \ them down in proper subjection to that Beauty which isv.N <'v 

^ "^ the atmosphere and the real essence of the poem. • • • F* v 

•5 K^ Thus, although in a very cursory and imperfect man- i^ ,♦ 

/ \ ner, I have endeavoured to convey to you my conception^ ^ 

V ^ of the Poetic Principle. It has been my purpose to% ^ 

Y 'a suggest that, while this principle itself is strictly and •> f* 
fri "M simply the Human Aspiration for Supernal Beauty, the£s ^ 
^ manifestation of the Principle is always found in are 5 ^ 
£ 1 elevating excitement of the soul, quite independent of T^ \ 
'^ that passion which is the intoxication of the Heart, or of ^ ^ 
%yy^ that truth which is the satisfaction of the Reason. For*\ /■• 
/ \ in regard to passion, alas ! its tendency is to degrade L \ 
^ -^ rather than to elevate the Soul. Love, on the contrary — \ w 
i^y >>• Love — the true, the divine Eros — the Uranian as distin- •> ^* 
/ \ guished from the Dionsan Venus — is unquestionably j|^ \ 
%W the purest and truest of all poetic themes. And 'va\ w 
^ ^ regard to truth, if, to be sure, through the attainment of *\ fP 
/^ 1| a truth, we are led to perceive a harmony where none jk, \ 
% W was apparent before, we experience at once the true J ^ 
/^ '\ poetical effect ; but this effect is referable to the harmony /^ ^\ 
|L J alone, and not in the least degree to the truth which ^ '^ 
J fj merely served to make the harmony manifest. •\''* 

^ Jl From Essay, " The Poetic Principle." ^ 



Hamilton Wright Mabie L\ 

1846- •v/5 

£ J 

A graduate of Williams, and bearing honorary degrees from % w 

Columbia and other institutions, Dr. Mabie has been for many %. ^* 
years an associate with Dr. Lyman Abbott in editing The Otdlook. * ■ ' 
He has written many choice works — among them a delightful 
" Life of Shakespeare " — mostly upon literary and spiritual themes, •v /# 



THE FIRST DELIGHT ^ 






'■\< 



U 



THE purest joy known to the reader is a per- ^ i^ 
ception of the beauty and power of a work #. >♦ 
of art so fresh and instantaneous that it com- / \ 
pletely absorbs the whole nature. Analysis, ^ 
criticism, and judicial appraisement come later. ... # 

One of the signs of real culture is the new interest 
with which it invests the most familiar objects ; and 
an evidence of capacity to receive culture from art is •^ ^i 
the development of this feeling. The reader who is 



on the way to enrich himself by contact with books 



cultivates the power of feeling freshly and keenly the y> ^v 
charm of every book he reads simply as a piece of liter- ^ ^ 
ature. . . . The surprise, the delight, the joy of the' ^ 
first discovery are not merely pleasurable, they are in/i\ 
the highest degree educational. They reveal the sensi 




profoundly true. . . . To get delight out of reading is, ' 
therefore, the first and constant care of the reader whoj 
wishes to be enriched by vital contact with the most' 
inclusive and expressive of the arts. 'x f^ 

From " Books and Culture." 

171 






• 






B 



• 



y4^.^ 



^^crixxari^XiCsr]:: ^ 




George Eliot 

1819-1880 

Mary Ann Evans began her literary work in a translation of 
Strauss' " Life of Jesus," and in 1850 became assistant editor of 
the Westminster Review, London. In this connection she met 
many literary folk, and joined her life with the philosopher, 
George Henry Lewes. In 1856, at his urgency, she began her 
fiction-writing with " Amos Barton " and others of the " Scenes in 
Clerical Life." The first notable success was " Adam Bede," and 
after that each successive tale by George Eliot — the pen-name 
which she adopted — was eagerly welcomed. The range and wis- 
dom of observation in all her works, the insight into character and 
its development, the wit and humour and pathos and power, the 
graphic descriptions and wealth of local or scholarly and historic 
lore that are in her work, will keep them long alive. An example 
of her critical writing (she contributed largely to the magazines 
and reviews) is appended. Two years after the death of Mr. Lewes 
in 1878, the authoress married John Walter Cross, and died in 
the same year. 



H 



WIT AND HUMOUR 

' UMOUR is of earlier growth than Wit, and it is 
in accordance with this earUer growth that it 
has more affinity with poetic tendencies, while 
Wit is more nearly allied to the ratiocinative 
intellect. Humour draws its materials from situations 
and characteristics ; Wit seizes on unexpected and com- 
plex relations. Humour is chiefly representative and de- 
scriptive ; it is diffuse, and flows along without any other 
law than its own fantastic will ; or it flits about like a 
will-o'-the-wisp, amazing us by its whimsical transitions. 
Wit is brief and sudden, and sharply defined as a crys- 
tal ; it does not make pictures, it is not fantastic ; but it 
detects an unexpected analogy, or suggests a startling or 

172 



^^^^^^^g^^^a 



GEORGE ELIOT 



confounding 



inference. . . . Some of Johnson's most 
admirable witticisms . . . are reasoning raised to a 
higher power. On the other hand. Humour in its higher 
forms, and in proportion as it associates itself with the 
sympathetic emotions, continually passes into poetry: 
nearly all great modern humourists may be called prose 
poets. . . . 

As is usual with definitions and classifications, how- 
ever, this distinction between wit and humour does not 
exactly represent the actual fact. Like all other species. 
Wit and Humour overlap and blend with each other. 
. . . We rarely find wit untempered by humour, or 
humour without a spice of wit ; and sometimes we find 
them both united in the highest degree in the same 
mind, as in Shakespeare and Moli^re. A happy con- 
junction this, for wit is apt to be cold, and thin-lipped, 
and Mephistophelean in men who have no relish for 
humour, whose lungs do never crow like Chanticleer at 
fun and drollery ; and broad-faced rollicking humour 
needs the refining influence of wit. Indeed, it may be 
said that there is no really fine writing in which wit has 
not implicit, if not explicit, action. The wit may never 
rise to the surface, it may never flame out into a witti- 
cism ; but it helps to give brightness and transparency, 
it warns off from flights and exaggerations which verge 
on the ridiculous — in evexy genre of writing it preserves 
a man from sinking into the genre ennuyeux. And it 
is eminently needed for this office in humorous writing ; 
for, as humour has no limits imposed on it by its material, 
no law but its own exuberance, it is apt to become pre- 
posterous and wearisome unless checked by wit, which 
is the enemy of all monotony, of all lengthiness, of all 
... exaggeration. 







John Fiske 



70 



1842-1901 



^ 



A precocious boy, a graduate of Harvard College and Law 
School, Mr. Fiske devoted his life to literature, with especial at- 
tention to history and philosophy. He was a brilliant and favourite 
lecturer on historical topics at Harvard (where he was also for 
some years Assistant Librarian) and in other American colleges, 
and also at the University College of London and the Royal In- 
stitution of Great Britain, while the announcement of a lecture 
by him in any city of our land filled the house. In earlier years 
his " Outlines of Cosmic Philosophy," won a great reputation by 
its research and its clear statements of the processes and results of 
the theory of Evolution. Along this line he wrote many essays, 
gathei-ed later into book-form ; but his little volumes, " The Des- 
tiny of Man Viewed in the Light of his Origin,'" " The Idea of i 
God as Affected by Modern Knowledge," "The Origin of Evil," i' 
and " Through Nature to God," were condensed statements that 
clarified philosophy and sustained fundamental faiths. His literary 
criticisms were equally fine, and his more recent historical work — 
issued finally in a series of volumes on American history — was 
scholarly, accurate, broadly philosophical, and written in a style 
of delightful grace, powei", and attractiveness, with many an 
illuminating flash of humour. 

STYLE IN WRITING 



THE excellence of the ancient [Greek] books is 
in part immediately due to the fact that they 
were not written in a hurry, or amid the anxi- 
eties of an over-busy existence ; but it is in 
greater part due to the indirect consequence of a leisurely 
life. These books were written for a public which knew 
well how to appreciate the finer beauties of expression ; 

174 



JOHN FISKE 



and, what is still more to the point, their authors lived 
in a community where an elegant style was habitual. 
^ Before a matchless style can be written, there must be a 
good style " in the air," as the French say. Probably 
the most finished talking and writing of modern times 
has been done in and about the French court in the 
^ seventeenth century ; and it is accordingly there that 
we find men like Pascal and Bossuet writing a prose 
which, for precision, purity, and dignity has never since 
, been surpassed. It is thus that the unapproachable lit- 
perary excellence of the ancient Greek books speaks for 
the genuine culture of the people who were expected to 
read them, or to hear them read. For one of the surest 
^ indices of true culture, whether professedly literary or 
^ not, is the power to express one's self in precise, rhyth- 
.^1 mical, and dignified language. We hardly need a better 
jw evidence than this of the superiority of the ancient com- 
V| munity in the general elevation of its tastes and percep- 
■" tions. Recollecting how Herodotus read his history at 
the Oljonpic games, let us tiy to imagine even so pictur- 
esque a v^nriter as Mr. Parkman reading a few chapters 
^ of his " Jesuits in North America " before the spectators 
assembled at the Jerome Park races, and we shall the 
I .. better realise how deep-seated was Hellenic culture. 

From " Atlienian and American Life." 



175 




i .. I 

[U^ William Makepeace Thackeray^ 

1811-1863 

Born in India, educated at the Charterhouse school in London 
at Cambridge, in Germany, and with some study of" law, after an I 
unfortunate editorial experience, Thackeray went to Paris to study 
art, became rather a critic than an artist, and in 1836 married, re- 
turned to London, and began his regular literary life, as a contribu- 
tor to Fraser's Magazine. His articles were mostly humourous and 
satirical — like " The Yellowplush Papers." In 1842 he joined the 
staff of Punch, contributing both text and illustrations. In 1846- 
48 " Vanity Fair " was issued, and established Thackeray''s fame as 
a great novelist. It was followed rapidly by " Pendennis," " Henry 
Esmond," and "The Newcomes," confirming the popular judgment — ■ 
" Esmond," particularly, as showing Thackeray's accurate knowl- 
edge and graphic delineation of the life of the eighteenth century. 
His series, biographical and critical, of " The English Humourists," 
are admirable depictions of the literary masters of that time — 
Addison, Steele, Swift, etc. In 1860 Thackeray became editor of 
the Cornhill Magazine, in which appeared his later novels and the 
series of " Roundabout Papers," from one of which charming essays 
our extract is taken. He made two lecture-trips to America, and 
here as everywhere his great, generous-hearted nature won many 
friends. He was essentially a critic of men, women, society, 
literature, and literary folk, finding much food for his satirical 
comments. But he was of a noble nature, and his tender heart 
often appeared under the keenness of his satire. 




WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY 



M 



LIVING CHARACTERS OF FICTION 



^T-^J 



1 



lHEY used to call the good Sir Walter the 
" Wizard of the North." What if some writer 
should appear who can write so enchantingly 
that he shall be able to call into actual life the 
people whom he invented ? What if Mignon, and Mar- 
garet, and Goetz von Berlichingen are alive now (though 
don't say they are visible), and Dugald Dalgetty and 
Ivanhoe were to step in at that open window by the 
little garden yonder ? Suppose Uncas and our noble 
old Leather Stocking were to glide silent in ? Suppose 
Athos, Porthos, and Aramis should enter with a noise- 
less swagger, curling their moustaches ? And dearest 
Amelia Booth, on Uncle Toby's arm ; and Tittlebat 
Titmouse, with his hair dyed green ; and all the Crum- 
mies company of comedians, with the Gil Bias troupe ; 
and Sir Roger de Coverley ; and the greatest of all 
crazy gentlemen, the Knight of La Mancha, with his 
blessed squire ? I say to you, I look rather wistfully 
toward the window, musing upon these people. Were 
any of them to enter, I do not think I should be very 
much frightened. Dear old friends, what pleasant hours 
~ have had with them 1 We do not see each other very 
often, but when we do we are ever happy to meet. I 
had a capital half-hour w^th Jacob Faithful last night ; 
when the last sheet was corrected, when " Finis " had 
been vn-itten, and the printer's boy, with the copy, was 
safe in Green Arbour Court. 

So you are gone, little printer's boy, with the last 
12 177 



WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY ##5) 

scratches and corrections on the proof, and a fine flourish 
by way of Finis at the story's end. The last coitcc- 
tions ! I say those last corrections seem never to be 
finished. A plague upon the weeds ! Every day, when 
I walk in my own little literary garden-plot, I spy some, 
and should like to have a spud, and root them out. 
Those idle words, neighbour, are past remedy. That 
turning back to the old pages produces anything but 
elation of mind. Would you not pay a pretty fine to 
be able to cancel some of them ? Oh, the sad old pages, 
the dull old pages ! Oh, the cares, the ennui, the squab- 
bles, the repetitions, the old conversations over and over 
again ! But now and again a kind thought is recalled, 
and now and again a dear memory. Yet a few chapters 
more, and then the last : after which behold Finis itself 
come to an end, and the Infinite begun. 

From " De Finibus " (" Roundabout Papers "). 



EYES AND JEWELS 

" There 's not a princess in Europe to compare with 
her," says Esinond. 

" In beauty ? No, perhaps not," answered my lady. 
" She is most beautiful, is n't she ? 'T is not a mother's 
partiality that deceives me. I marked you yesterday 
when she came down the stair ; and read it in your 
face. . . . You thought Beatrix was a pretty subject 
for verse, did not you, Harry ? " (The gentleman could 
only blush for a reply.) " And so she is : nor are you 
the first that her pretty face has captivated. 'T is 
quickly done. Such a pair of bright eyes as hers learn 
their power very soon, and use it very early." And 

178 



WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY 

looking at him keenly with hers, the fair widow Jb 
left him. '*^ 

■j^ And so it is — a pair of bright eyes with a dozen 
glances suffice to subdue a man ; to enslave him and 
._.. inflame him; to make him even forget; they dazzle 
U4v him so that the past becomes straightway dim to him ; 
y\ and he so prizes them that he would give all his life 
■" to possess them. What is the fond love of dearest 
j^yj friends compared to this treasure ? Is memory as 
strong as expectancy ? fi'uition as hunger ? gi-atitude 
7j) as desire ? I have looked at royal diamonds in the 
jewel-rooms of Europe, and thought how wars had 
fXlL been made about them ; Mogul sovereigns deposed and 
strangled for them, or ransomed with them ; millions 
^ expended to buy them ; and daring lives lost in dig- 
ging out the little shining toys that I value no more 
J^IL than the button in my hat. And so there are other 

glittering baubles, of rare water, too, for which men ^ 
A) have been set to kill and quarrel ever since mankind ^ 
began ; and which last out for a score of years, when 
their sparkle is over. Where are those jewels now that 
- beamed under Cleopatra's forehead, or shone in the 
"* sockets of Helen ? 

From " The History of Henry Esmond." 



179 



^s^^s^^^^^^^s^^^^^^^ 



Charles Sumner 



1811-1874 

Among the most notable of the many strong men who have rep- m 
resented Massachusetts in the national councils, Mr. Sumner was ^ 
born in Boston, educated at Cambridge, and entered the work of 
the law in 1834. For successive years he was a lecturer in the 
Cambridge Law School, spent some time in European travel, 
and in 1851 succeeded Daniel Webster as United States Senator. 
He was an able writer on legal topics and edited important reports 
of cases in the U. S. Circuit Courts. Both on public occasions 
and in his place in the Senate, Mr. Sumner was famed as a 
scholarly, polished, but forceful orator, and the part he took in the 
great Anti-Slavery struggle and during the Civil War confirmed 
him as one of the strongest men of his time. Noticing one of his 
volumes of collected addresses, the Edinburgh Journal said : " For 
depth and accuracy of thought, for fulness of historical information, 
and for a species of gigantic morality which treads all sophistry 
underfoot and rushes at once to the right conclusion, we know not 
a single orator speaking the English tongue who ranks as his 
superior." Our first extract is from an early Fourth of July 
oration in Boston (1845), and the one following is from his reply 
in the Senate to Senator Butler of South Carolina, who had 
denounced opposition to the efforts to force slavery upon Kansas as 
" an uncalculating fanaticism " (1856). 



180 












CHARLES SUMNER 



FORECAST OF EMANCIPATION 



PEACE has its own peculiar victories, in com- 
parison with which Marathon and Bannockburn 
and Bunker Hill — fields held sacred in the his- 
tory of human freedom — shall lose their lustre. 
Our own Washington rises to a truly heavenly stature, 
not when we follow him over the ice of the Delaware 
to the capture of Trenton, not when we behold him 
victorious over Cornwallis at Yorktown, but when we 
regard him, in noble deference to justice, refusing the 
kingly crown, which a faithless soldiery proffered, and 
at a later day upholding the peaceful neutrality of the 
country, while he received unmoved the clamour of the 
people wickedly crying for war. What glory of battle 
in England's annals wiU not fade by the side of that 
great act of justice, by which her Legislature, at a cost 
of one hundred million dollars, gave freedom to eight 
hundred thousand slaves. And when the day shall 
come (may these eyes be gladdened by its beams !) that 
shall witness an act of greater justice still, — the peace- 
ful emancipation of three millions of our fellow-men 
" guilty of a skin not coloured as our own," nor held in 
gloomy bondage under the Constitution of our country, 
— then shall there be a victory, in comparison with 
which Bunker Hill shall be as a farthing- candle held 
up to the sun. That victory shall need no monument 
of stone. It shall be written on the grateful hearts 
of uncounted multitudes, that shall proclaim it to the 

181 



CHARLES SUMNER 



latest generation. It shall be one of the links in the 
golden chain by which humanity shall connect itself 
with the throne of God. 

From Oration, July 4, 1845, in Tremont Temple, Boston. 



ANTI-SLAVERY "FANATICISM" 

Fanaticism is found in an enthusiasm or exaggeration 
of opinions, particularly on religious subjects ; but there 
may be a fanaticism for evil as well as for good. Now I 
will not deny that there are persons among us loving 
liberty too well for their personal good, in a selfish 
generation. Such there may be, and, for the sake 
of their example, would that there were more ! In 
calling them " fanatics," you would cast contumely 
upon the noble army of martyrs, from the earliest 
day down to this hour ; upon the great tribunes of 
human rights, by whom life, liberty, and happiness 
on earth, have been secured ; upon the long line of 
devoted patriots, who, throughout history, have truly 
loved their country ; and upon all who, in noble as- 
pirations for the general good, and in forgetfulness of 
self, have stood out before their age, and gathered into 
their generous bosoms the shafts of tyranny and wrong, 
in order to make a pathway for truth. You discredit 
Luther, when alone he nailed his articles to the door 
of the church at Wittenberg, and then, to the imperial 
demand that he should retract, fii'mly replied, " Here I 
stand ; I cannot do otherwise, so help me God ! " You 
discredit Hampden, when alone he refused to pay the 
few shillings of ship-money, and shook the throne of 
Charles I. ; you discredit Milton, when, amidst the 

182 



CHARLES SUMNER 



corruptions of a heartless court, he hved on, the lofty 
friend of liberty, above question or suspicion ; you dis- 
credit Russell and Sidney, when, for the sake of their 
country, they calmly turned from family and friends, to 
tread the narrow steps of the scaffold ; you discredit the 
early founders of American institutions, who preferred 
the hardships of a wilderness, surrounded by a savage 
foe, to injustice on beds of ease ; you discredit our later 
fathers, who, few in numbers, and weak in resources, yet 
strong in their cause, did not hesitate to brave the mighty 
power of England, already encircling the globe with her 
morning drum-beats. Yes, sir, of such are the " Fanat- 
ics " of history. . . . 

But there are also characters badly eminent, of whose 
fanaticism there can be no question. Such were' the 
ancient Egyptians, who worshipped divinities in brutish 
forms ; the Druids, who darkened the forests of oak in 
which they lived by sacrifices of blood ; the Mexicans, 
who surrendered countless victims to the propitiation of 
their obscene idols ; the Spaniards, who, under Alva, 
sought to force the Inquisition upon Holland ; . . . 
and such were the Algerines, when, in solemn con- 
clave, after listening to a speech not unlike that of 
the Senator from South Carolina, they resolved to 
continue the slavery of white Christians, and to ex- 
tend it to the countrymen of Washington ! And in 
this same dreary catalogue, faithful history must record 
all who now, in an enlightened age, and in a land of 
boasted freedom, stand up, in perversion of the Consti- 
tution, and in denial of immortal truth, to fasten a new 
shackle upon their fellow-man. 



From Speech in the United States Senate, 1 856. 



I> 



]8£ 



William Henry Seward 

1801-1872 




One of the marked men of New York State, Mr. Seward was a 
brilliant lawyer, a shrewd and capable politician, a State Senator, 
Governor of the State, United States Senator, chief candidate for 
the Republican presidential nomination in 1860 when Lincoln was 
chosen, and Lincoln's Secretary of State. He was a finished ora- 
tor, and whether on special public occasions, or during the excite- 
ment of elections in the stiiTing times before the war, or in the 
national Senate on great questions of legislation, he was unfailing 
in his grasp of facts, his deliverance of principles, and his genuine 
devotion to the public interests. He was a great force in a great 
era. As Secretary of State during the Civil War, he was of emi- 
nent service, and there crowned a life of remarkable usefulness. It 
was he, who, in a speech delivered in Rochester, N. Y., in 1858, 
boldly announced the "irrepressible conflict" between free and 
slave labour, which went far to invigorate the public opinion in a 
time of compromises. Our extract gives the sounding of that 
bugle-blast, to which the North finally rallied. 

THE IRREPRESSIBLE CONFLICT 

IN the United States, slavery came into collision 
with free labour at the close of the last century, 
and fell before it in New England, New Jersey, 
and Pennsylvania, but triumphed over it effect- 
ually, and excluded it for a period yet undetermined, 
from Virginia, the Carolinas, and Georgia. Indeed, so 
incompatible are the two systems that every new State 
which is organised within our ever-extending domain 
makes its first political act a choice of the one and 
the exclusion of the other, even at the cost of civil 
war, if necessary. . . . 

Hitherto the two systems have existed in different 

184 









cwG^g^^Cw 






WILLIAM HENRY SEWARD 






States, but side by side within the American Union. 
This has happened because the Union is a confeder- 
ation of States. But in another aspect the United 
States constitute only one nation. Increase of popu- 
lation, which is filling the States out to their borders, 
together with a new and extended net- work of railroads 
and other avenues, and an internal commerce which daily 
becomes more intimate, is rapidly bringing the States 
into a higher and more perfect social unity or consolida- 
tion. Thus, these antagonistic systems are continually 
coming into closer contact, and collision results. 

Shall I tell you what this collision means ? They 
who think that it is accidental, unnecessary, the work 
of interested or fanatical agitators, and therefore ephem- 
eral, mistake the case altogether. It is irrepressible 
conflict between opposing and enduring forces, and it 
means that the United States must and will, sooner or 
later, become either entirely a slave-holding nation or en- 
tirely a free-labour nation. Either the cotton- and rice- 
fields of South Carolina and the sugar-plantations of 
Louisiana will ultimately be tilled by free labour, and 
Charleston and New Orleans become marts of legiti- 
mate merchandise alone, or else the rye-fields and wheat- 
fields of JMassachusetts and New York must again be 
surrendered by their farmers to slave-culture and to the 
production of slaves, and Boston and New York become 
once more markets for trade in the bodies and souls of 
men. It is the failure to apprehend this great truth 
that induces so many unsuccessful attempts at final com- 
promises between the slave and free States, and it is the 
existence of this great fact that renders all such pretended 
compromises, when made, vain and ephemeral. 

From Speech at Rochester, N. Y., 25 October, 1858. 
185 



u 



/\ Abraham Lincoln ^\ 

J J >«^^>««^ fj 

^^ ^? A notable thing about Lincoln was his equable poise of char- *\ ^^ 

1 J acter. Honourable, sensible, reasonable, firm, he was yet so kind, t^,^ Jk 

%■ w and had such a fund of humour, in his view of other people's opin- J ^ 

•■^ y'* ions, that he often gained his way by letting others have their say. \ f 

i \ Mrs. Stowe once said of him, after a personal interview : " He L \ 

^ -M seems to me like a ship's cable — swaying with the tide, but hold- % S 

fc * ^'^S ^^^^ ^^ both ends." He was a supreme manager of men. (i, -• 

Z' f^ Another thing worthy of remark was the steadfast patience and / \ 

^ \ persevering intelligence with which, by close study of a few books, R*' '^ 

" •^ bv traininff himself to clear thinkinff. and bv learninff to sav con- ^ 



' by training himself to clear thinking, and by learning to say con ^ 
* ciselv what he thought, he became master of an unsurpassed /^ ^' 
English style. His speeches, his state papers, his private and 
public letters, all have this distinction ; and none of them more 
•\ /•• than his brief two-minute talk at the dedication of the National g^ f^ 



•>./•" tnan nis onei two-mniuie taiK at tne aeaicaiion oi tne rsationai /'"v 

/ 1 Cemetery at Gettysburg, a year after the battle, — although it #s ^ 

^ "y was written in the cars, on the way to the ceremony, on the back ' ^ 

»>, ^« of an old envelope. The chief " orator of the day " was Edward /\ 'x 

d ^Everett — himself a past master of oratory — who, in a note to |k>^ 

|r> 'M the President the next morning, wrote : " I should be glad if I J ^ 

J ^ could flatter myself that I came as near to the central idea of the ^^ (>. 

jt\ ' V occasion in two hours as you did in two minutes." And, in fact, j^,, ^ 

l^ 1 Mr. Everett's eloquent address is forgotten ; Lincoln's few terse % ^ 

% W sentences stand as one of the Nation's classics. *^ /* 






^\ ABRAHAM LINCOLN *^^* 

^-f THE GETTYSBURG ADDRESS 

#>i/^ 

/ V V "FOURSCORE and seven years ago our fathers 

^ -y Li brought forth upon this continent a new nation, 

•> ^e I conceived in hberty, and dedicated to the propo- 

/ \ sition that all men are created equal. Now we 

% 9 are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that 

y> ff nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can 

\]1 long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that 

^T^ war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field 

j^ ^\ as a final resting-place for those who here gave their 

L, A lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fit- 

^ ^ ting and proper that we should do this. But in a larger 

/" \ sense we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we can- 

^ J not haUow this ground. The brave men living and 

' ^ dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it far above 

/ V our power to add or detract. The M-'orld wUl little 

fc" iP note, nor long remember, what we say here, but it can 

»» ^f never forget what they did here. It is for us, the living, 

/ I rather to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which 



• 



they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced, 
y-^ It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task 
£ \ remaining before us, that from these honoured dead we 
%" "^ take increased devotion to that cause for which they 
*"S /'f gave the last fuU measure of devotion ; that we here 
i 1 highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in 
% W vain ; that this nation, under God, shall have a new 
*\ f^ birth of freedom, and that government of the people, 
I 1| by the people, and for the people, shall not perish from 
%" # the earth. 
•>/'• 

/ \ November 19, 1863. ._ . 

W 187 



Henry JVard Beecher 



1813-1887 



The career of this mighty character was probably better known 
to his generation than that of any other man of his time. For ten 
years a home-missionary at the West, he came to Brooklyn, N. Y., 
in 1847, founded Plymouth Church, and made it a power, — first, 
in aggressive Christian work, and then in the fore front of the 
reform movements of the day. He was especially identified with 
the growth of anti-slavery sentiment, and with support of the war 
for the Union ; but no form of effort in behalf of the poor, the 
weak, or humanity in general, lacked his influence. He was 
preacher, editor, writer, lecturer, counsellor of people in trouble 
(from President Lincoln, who sought him, to the humblest appli- 
cant), and above all he was a most effective orator. His master- 
stroke was in facing, conquering, and convincing the vast and 
hostile audiences in England in his speeches there during our War 
of the Rebellion ; but whether in such an effort, or the regular 
pulpit-work of his church, or the quiet talks of the prayer-meet- 
ing, or on the political platform, or in charming essays called Star 
Papers (because at first signed with an asterisk — *), or in the 
lyceum lecture, his marvellous powers were always equal to the 
occasion. Those vvho knew him best esteemed him the most 
highly, and his personal influence, without the aid of official 
position, was wider and more potent than that of any other single 
individual. Our first extract is from his discourse at Plymouth 
Cliurch, on the Sunday after Lincoln's assassination ; the second, 
from one of his Star Papers. 



1S8 



HENRY WARD BEECHER 



N" 



THE DEATH OF LINCOLN 

"EVER did two such orbs of experience meet 
in one hemisphere, as the joy and the sorrow 
of the same week in this land. The joy of < 
final victory was as sudden as if no man had 
expected it, and as entrancing as if it had fallen 
sphere from heaven. It rose up over sobriety, and swept 
business from its moorings, and ran down through the 
land in irresistible course. Men embraced each other in 
brotherhood that were strangers in the flesh. They j.» ^ 
sang, or prayed, or, deeper yet, many could only think |^u 
thanksgiving and weep gladness. . . . \a}\ 

In one hour, under the blow of a single bereavement, 
joy lay without a pulse, without a gleam, or breath. A 
sorrow came that swept through the land as huge storms 
sweep through the forest and field, rolling thunder along 
the sky, dishevelling the flowers, daunting every singer 
in thicket and forest, and pouring blackness and dark- 
ness across the land and upon the mountains. Did 
ever so many hearts, in so brief a time, touch two such 
boundless feelings ? It was the uttermost of joy ; it 
was the uttermost of sorrow : — noon and midnight with- 
out a space between ! ... It was so terrible that at first 
it stunned sensibility. Citizens were like men awak- 
ened at midnight by an earthquake, and bewildered to 
find everything that they were accustomed to trust 
wavering and falling. The very earth was no longer 
solid. . . . All business was laid aside. Pleasure forgot \h(\ 
to smile. The great city for nearly a week ceased to KvvT 

189 _ ►NA/V 




HENRY WARD BEECHER 

roar. The huge Leviathan lay down and was still. 
Even avarice stood still, and greed was strangely moved 
^^ to generous sympathy and universal sorrow. Rear to 
his name monuments, found charitable institutions, and 
write his name above their lintels ; but no monument 
will ever equal the universal, spontaneous, and sublime 
sorrow that in a moment swept down lines and parties, 
and covered up animosities, and in an hour brought a 
divided people into unity of grief and indivisible fellow- 
ship of anguish. ... 

And now the martyr is moving in triumphal march,^ 
mightier than when alive. The nation rises up at every 
stage of his coming. Cities and states are his pall- 
the cannon beats the hours with solemn 
Dead — dead — dead — he yet speaketh ! 
Is Hampden dead ? Is David 
dead? Is any man dead that ever was fit to live ? 
Disenthralled of flesh, and risen to the unobstructed 
sphere where passion never comes, he begins his illimit- 
able work. His life now is grafted upon the Infinite, 
and will be fruitful as no earthly life can be. Pass on, 
thou that hast overcome ! Your sorrows, O people, are 
his peace ! Your bells, and bands, and muffled drums 
sound triumph in his ear. Wail and weep here : God 
makes it joy and triumph there. Pass on, thou victor ! 



bearers, and 
progression. 

Is Washington dead? 



From " Patriotic Addresses in England and America : 1850-1887. 



1 The funeral journey, conveying Lincoln's body from Washington to Illinois, 
was fourteen days in progress. He was buried on May 4, 1865. 



HENRY WARD BEECHER 



Ta 



FARMING BY FANCY 

^- The chief use of a farm, if it be well selected, and of 
K a proper soil, is to lie down upon. Mine is an excellent 
[^ farm for such uses, and 1 thus cultivate it every day. 
p5^ Large crops are the consequence, — of great delights 
and fancies more than the brain can hold. . . . With 
my head I can sow the gTound with glorious harvests; 
I can build barns, fill them with silky cows and nimble 
^ horses ; I can pasture a thousand sheep, run innumer- 
able furrows, sow every sort of seed, rear up forests just 
wherever the eye longs for them, build my house, like 
Solomon's Temple, without the sound of a hammer. 
Ah ! a mighty worker is the head ! . . . I can change 
my structures every day, without expense. I can en- 
large that gem of a lake that lies yonder twinkling and 
rippling in the sunlight. I can pile up rocks where 
A) they ought to have been found, for landscape effect, 
and clothe them with the very vines that ought to grow 
over them. I can transplant every tree that I meet in 
my rides, and put it near my house without the drop- 
ping of a leaf. 

But of what use is all this fanciful using of the head ? 
It is a mere waste of precious time 1 ... If one really 
believes that the earth is the Lord's and that God yet 
walks among leaves and trees, in the cool of the day, 
he will not easily be persuaded to cast away the belief 
that all these vagaries and wild communings are but 
those of a dear child in his father's house, and that the 
secret springs of joy which they open are touched of 
God! 



From " Star Papers.' 




William Jennings Bryan \f^ 

I 



1860- 



Young Bryan, beginning his career as a lawyer in Jacksonville, 
111., in 1887 removed to Lincoln, Nebraska, where he now resides. 
He went early into politics, and in 1890 was sent to Congress as a 
Democrat. Here he was a member of the all-important Ways 
and Means Committee, and championed free silver and a tariff for 
revenue only. In 1894 he returned to Nebraska and edited the 
Omaha World Herald. In 1896 a passionate appeal to his party 
for free silver at the Democratic presidential convention swept the 
delegates into enthusiasm, and he was nominated as their candi- 
date for President ; this was confirmed also by the People's Party. , 
But Mr. Bryan was not elected. In 1900 he was nominated again, 
and on the anti-corporation, anti-imperialism, and gold-silver ques- 
tions was again defeated. He then established The Commorier, 
and maintained a vigorous agitation of these problems. His 
speech is clear and plain, but rises to oratorical fervour. Whether * 
his audience agree with him or not, he commands their attention, 
and often their earnest applause. 



i 



Y 



THE CROSS OF GOLD 

"OU come to us and tell us that the great cities, 
are in favour of the gold standard ; we reply that VJ 
the great cities rest upon our broad and fertile "'^ 
prairies. Burn down your cities and leave our 
farms, and your cities will spring up again as if by , 
magic ; but destroy our farms, and the grass will grow 
in the streets of every city in the country. 

My friends, we declare that this nation is able to leg- YQ( 
islate for its own people on every question, without VVj 
waiting for the aid or consent of any other nation on /^ 
earth ; and upon that issue we expect to carry every , 



^m^^^^m^^^^m 



^ 



m 



WILLIAM JENNINGS BRYAN 

State in the Union. I shall not slander the inhabitants 
of the fair State of Massachusetts nor the inhabitants of 
the State of New York by saying that, when they are 
confronted with the proposition, they will declare that 
this nation is not able to attend to its own business. 
It is the issue of 1776 over again. Our ancestors, 
when but three millions in number, had the courage 
to declare their political independence of every other 
nation : shall we, their descendants, when we have 
grown to seventy millions, declare that we are less 
independent than our forefathers ? No, my friends, 
that will never be the verdict of our people. Therefore 
we care not upon what lines the battle is fought. If 
they say bimetallism is good, but that we cannot have 
it until other nations help, we reply that, instead of 
having a gold standard because England has, we will 
restore bimetallism, and then let England have bimetal- 
lism because the United States has it. If they dare to 
come out into the open field and defend the gold stand- 
ard as a good thing, we will fight them to the utter- 
most. Having behind us the producing classes of this 
nation and the world, supported by the commercial 
interests, the labouring interests, and the toilers every- 
where, we will answer their demand for a gold standard 
by sa5dng to them : You shaU not press down upon 
the brow of labour this crovsm of thorns, you shall not 
crucify mankind upon a cross of gold. 

From Speech at Democratic National Convention, 1896. 



I 









GT 



Theodore Roosevelt 

1858- 



There is little to be said of President Roosevelt and his career, 
not already familiar to the reader. Graduated at Harvard at 
Jti twenty-two, he was elected to the New York State Legislature at 
twenty-four (1882) and during his two-year term was largely 
_ instrumental in the passage of the Civil Service Reform bill for 
the State, and other excellent legislation for the city, of New 
'TjJ York. He ran unsuccessfully for the mayoralty of that city in 
'~ 1886, was on the U. S. Civil Service Commission in 1889-95, 
—^ J served as president of New York board of police in 1895-97, and as 
vuLt Assistant Secretary of the Navy in 1897-98. In the War with 
^ Spain he was Lieutenant-Colonel of the Rough Riders cavalry 
^1 regiment, and won great popular regard in the battle of San 
Juan Hill, — which resulted in his being nominated and elected 
Governor of New York State, January 1, 1899. In 1900 he was 
nominated by the Republican party for the Vice Presidency of the 
'^^ United States, with Mr. McKinley as President, and elected ; and 
"~ on the untimely death of the latter at Buffalo, in Septembei', 1901, 
he became President. His bold and " strenuous " course in that 
high position has confirmed the general opinion as to his origi- 
nality, force, and political skill. He has been the author of divers 
(5J notable books, on ranch life in the West, hunting, " The Naval 
'~ War of 1812," "The Rough Riders," etc., and in these, in his 
magazine-articles, his frequent speeches, and his state papers, there 
always appear the virile qualities of the man. 



THEODORE ROOSEVELT 



NATIONAL CONTROL OF CORPORATIONS 



^rrv 



HE tremendous social and industrial changes 
in our nation have rendered evident the need 
of a larger exercise by the National Govern- 

. ment of its power to deal with the business 

Puse of wealth, and especially of corporate wealth, in in- 
terstate business. . . . The task is peculiarly difficult, 
because it is one in which the fanatical or foolish extrem- 

^ist and the reactionary, whether honest or dishonest, 

"" play into one another's hands, and they thereby render it 

yy^ii especially hard to secure legislative and executive action 

which shall be thoroughgoing and effective, and yet 

^ which shall not needlessly jeopardise the business pros- 
perity which we all share, even though we do not all 
share it with as much equality as we are striving to 
secure. 

(^ It is a very easy thing to play the demagogue in this 
matter, to confine one's self merely to denouncing the 
evils of wealth, and to advocate, often in vague language, 
measures so sweeping that, while they would entirely 

^ fail to correct the evils aimed at, would undoubtedly 
succeed in bringing down the prosperity of the nation 
with a crash. It is also easy to play the part of the 
mere obstructionist ; to decline to recognise the great 

^ evils of the present system and to oppose any effort to 

deal with them in rational fashion — thereby strengthen- 

(jyTl ing immensely the hands of those who advocate extreme 

and foolish measures. But it is not easy . . . sternly 



THEODORE ROOSEVELT 



to disregard alike the self-interest of those who have 
profited by the present evils, and the wild clamour of 
those who care less to do away with them than to make 
a reputation with the unthinking by standing in extreme 
opposition to them. . . . Congress . . . has given us an 
interstate commerce law which will enable us to exercise 
in thorough fashion a supervision over the common 
carriers of this country, so as, while scrupulously safe- 
guarding their proper interests, to prevent them from 
charging excessive rates ; to prevent their favouring one 
man at the expense of another, and especially a strong 
man at the expense of a weak man ; and to require them 
to be fully accountable to the public for the service which 
to their own profit they render the public. . . . 

To the reactionaries, who seem to fear that to deal in 
proper fashion with the abuses of property is somehow 
an attack upon property, we would recall the words of 
Edmund Biirke : " If wealth is obedient and laborious 
in the service of virtue and public honour, then wealth is 
in its place and has its use. But if this order is changed 
and honour is to be sacrificed to the conservation of 
riches, riches, which have neither eyes nor hands nor 
anything truly vital in them, cannot long survive the 
well-being of . . . their legitimate masters. ... If we 
command our wealth we shall be rich and free. If our 
wealth commands us we are poor indeed." 

'A From a Public Letter to Hon. J. E. Watson of Indiana, August, 
C 1906. 



396 






«fcs*<:>.^- 



William Ewart Gladstone 



1809-1898 

Mr. Gladstone, one of the greatest of England's great men, 
early manifested the literary, religious, oratorical, and statesman- 
like gifts that distinguished him through life. He entered Par- 
liament within a year after graduating at Oxford, in 1832, and 
from that time until within four years of his death in 1898, was 
almost continuously in the public service, either as legislator, or 
cabinet-member, or premier. He was essentially the great figure 
in English politics for fifty years, and even while his brilliant 
rival, Disraeli — ambitious, politic, wily, able, successful — divided 
with him the public attention, Gladstone was the genuine strong 
man on whom rested the nation's confidence. During our Civil 
War, Gladstone was — like most of the governing classes of Eng- 
land (except the Queen and Prince Albert) — inclined to misjudge 
the Federal cause ; but, later on, he did ample justice to America. 
Our extract is from an article in which Mr. Gladstone praised 
without stint, not only the material advances of the United States 
but the self-control of the vast army that melted away into the 
employments of daily life, and the self-sacrifice of the people in 
taxing themselves to wipe out the great war-debt, with a speed 
unparalleled among nations. 



AMERICA AND BRITAIN 

kHE students of the future will have much 
to say in the way of comparison between 
American and British institutions. The re- 
lationship between these two is unique in 
history. . . . The England and the America of the 
present are probably the two strongest nations of the 
world. But there can hardly be a doubt, as between 

197 



ifrr^i 



WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE 

the America and the England of the future, that the 
daughter, at some no very distant time, will, whether 
fairer or less fair, be unquestionably yet stronger than 
the mother. . . . 

In many and the most fundamental respects the two 
still carry in undiminished, perhaps in increasing, clear- 
ness, the notes of resemblance that beseem a parent and 
a child. . . , Our two governments, whatsoever they 
do, have to give reasons for it ; not reasons which will 
convince the unreasonable, but reasons which on the 
whole will convince the average mind, and carry it 
unitedly forwards in a course of action, often though 
not always wise, and carrying within itself provisions, 
where it is unwise, for the correction of its own unwis- 
dom before it grow into an intolerable rankness. They 
are governments, not of force only, but of persuasion. 

Many more are the concords, and not less vital than 
these, of the two nations, as expressed in their institu- 
tions. They alike prefer the practical to the abstract. 
They tolerate opinion, with only a reserve on behalf of 
decency ; and they desire to confine coercion to the prov- 
ince of action, and to leave thought, as such, entirely 
free. They set a high value on liberty for its own sake. 
They desire to give full scope to the principles of self- 
reliance in the people, and they deem self-help to be 
immeasurably superior to help in any other form ; to be 
the only help, in short, which ought not to be con- 
tinually, or periodically, put upon its trial, and required 
to make good its title. They mistrust and mislike the 
centralisation of power ; and they cherish municipal, 
local, even parochial liberties, as nursery grounds, not 
only for the production here and there of able men, but 
for the general training of public virtue and independent 

198 



WILLIAM EWART GLADSTONE 

spirit. They regard publicity as the vital air of politics ; 
through which alone, in its freest circulation, opinions 
can be thrown into common stock for the good of all, 
and the balance of relative rights and claims can be 
habitually and peacefully adjusted. It would be diffi- 
cult, in the case of any other pair of nations, to present 
an assemblage of traits at once so common and so dis- 
tinctive, as has been given in this probably imperfect 
enumeration. 

From " Kin Beyond Sea " {Norlk American Review, Sept., 1898). 



199 



L^^^^^S^^^^^^^^^ 



Phillips Brooks 

1835-1893 



Ending his fine career as Bishop of Massachusetts in the Prot- 
estant Episcopal Church, Phillips Brooks was a native-born and 
highly-trained preacher, — but, better than that, he was a singu- 
larly complete man. Of lofty stature, and noble countenance, he 
had rare intellectual gifts, a heart of boundless sympathy and 
goodness, great independence as to ecclesiastical and theological 
limitations, and " the power of speech to stir men's blood." His 
three pastorates — two in Philadelphia, at the churches of The 
Advent and of Holy Trinity, and one in Boston, at Trinity Church 
— gave him scope as a preacher; and his divers volumes of ser- 
mons have found and still hold wide circulation. But he was 
known and welcomed all over the land, and his preachings were 
always thronged. In 1880, while on a European tour, he made 
great fame in England, preaching at several of the cathedrals, at 
Windsor before Queen Victoria, and, on a Sunday which was the 
fourth day of July, in Westminster Abbey. From this discourse 
we append a few of the words which he added to his sermon on 
" The Candle of the Lord," and which, by its patriotic fervour and 
broad humanity, deeply moved his English audience, and should 
appeal to us. 



FOURTH OF JULY IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY 

TO all true men the birthday of a nation must 
always be a sacred thing. For in our modern 
thought the nation is the making-place of 
men. Not by the traditions of its history, 
nor by the splendour of its corporate achievements, nor 
by the abstract excellence of its Constitution, but by its 

200 






• • • ^* 






PHILLIPS BROOKS 



^ 



% 
w 
?• 



M 



fitness to make men, to beget and educate human 
character, to contribute to the complete humanity the 
perfect man that is to be, — by this alone each nation 
must be judged to-day. The nations are the golden 
candlesticks which hold aloft the glory of the Lord. No 
candlestick can be so rich or venerable that men shall 
honour it if it holds no candle. " Show us your man," 
land cries to land. . . . 

It is not for me to glorify to-night the country which 
I love with all my heart and soul. I may not ask your 
praise for anything admirable which the United States 
has been or done. But on my country's birthday I may 
do something far more solemn and more worthy of the 
hour. I may ask for your prayers in her behalf: That 
on the manifold and wondrous chance M'hich God is 
giving her, — on her freedom (for she is free, since the 
old stain of slavery was washed out in blood) ; on her 
unconstrained religious life ; on her passion for education 
and her eager search for truth ; on her zealous care for 
the poor man's rights and opportunities ; on her quiet 
homes where the future generations of men are growing ; 
on her manufactories and her commerce ; on her wide 
gates open to the east and to the west ; on her strange 
meeting of the races out of which a new race is slowly 
being born ; on her vast enterprise and her illimitable 
hopefulness, — on all these materials and machineries 
of manhood, on all that the life of my country must 
mean for humanity, I may ask you to pray that the 
blessing of God, the Father of man, and Christ, the Son 
of man, may rest forever. 

From " The Candle of the Lord." 












• • • • — ^ • — J» -^ ^* • 



•' 



0: 



n u 

•>^ Miscellanea V{ 

H H 

0y ^9 There are a few choice, tersely expressed sentiments, that have •» >♦ 

/ \ been floating about in divers printed forms until they have become/ '\ 

^ "(P familiar, and by their apt suggestiveness endeared to many, which %^ '0 

• -• seem worth gathering and reprinting here. Some of their authors •• -# 

/ ' I are otherwise represented in this volume among the more formal i \ 

^ Jm extracts ; those that are not might well be, except for a considera- %^ '^ 

^ « tion of space in the planning of the book. At all events, it is*\ /♦ 

y '\ believed that these admirable little fragments will be welcome, as / \ 

^ ji preserved in convenient form for those who appreciate them. 1^ -^ 

tS ™ I'i 

^1^ *-"f-^HINK of living! Thy life, wert thou theJ^^» 



i'iT 



pitifuUest of all the sons of earth, is no idle i \ 
dream, but a solemn reality. It is thy own. % # 
g.. ^« It is all thou hast to front eternity with. *\ /"^ 

/ \ Work then, even as He has done, and does, like a star, L^ A 
^ -y unhasting yet unresting. — Thomas Carlyle. " ^ 

t J A MAN'S WORK V^ 

w^ V* 

*> ^* To be honest, to be kind, to earn a little and spend / \ 

£ J a little less, to make upon the whole a family happier %T# 

^ # for his presence, to renounce when that shall be nee- ®\L* 

•v iT* essary and not be embittered, to keep a few friends, but i \ 

i \ these without capitulation, above all, on the same grim|^ / 

%"# condition to keep friends with himself — ^here is a task»x ^» 

••V ^* for all that a man has of fortitude and delicacy. / \ 

jt J' Robert Louis Stevenson. Ip '^ 



/^V MISCELLANEA /^\ 

THE SIMPLE LIFE •J A 

A man is simple when his chief care is the wish to be* f 
what he ought to be ; that is, honestly and naturally/^ i 
human. We may compare existence to raw material. V» 
What it is, matters less than what is made of it ; as the*\ ^ 
value of a work of art lies in the flowering of a work-^ \ 
man's skill. True life is possible in social conditions thej ^ 
most diverse, and with natural gifts the most unequaLj'^^' 
It is not fortune, or personal advantage, but our turn-^ f\_ 
ing them to account, that constitutes the value of life.*^^ 
Fame adds no more than does length of days ; quality' '^ 

is the thing. — Charles Wagner. 



BOOKS AND AUTHORS 






• 



A few books are almost impersonal, and might have*\ (^ 
been written by one man as readily as by another. 4>^ 
These are to be judged chiefly by their value, i. e., by J ^ 
what they contain. But most books express more ox ^^^ 
less of the personality of their authors ; and in read-K>' -^ 
ing them, we come in contact with living men. Goodt. ^» 
books, besides the value of what they contain and im-Zj^ 
part, have a positive worth in their effect on the prin-^ S 
ciples, feelings, and character. — Noah Porter. \\ r^ 

\i 

CHOICE OF BOOKS 7 \ 

Men who are most observant as to the friends they #s \ 
make, or the conversation they share, are carelessness % 
^ _ itself as to the books to which they intrust themselves, •>. ^* 
•> f* and the printed language with which they saturate i \ 
4^ \ their minds. Yet can any friendship or society be ^ "^ 






MISCELLANEA 



more important to us than that of the books which 
form so large a part of our minds and even of our 
characters ? . . . Books are not wiser than men ; the 
true books are not easier to find than the true men 
the art of right reading is as long and difficult to learn 
as the art of right living. — Frederic Harrison. 



^ 



READING 

I would rather be a poor man in a garret with plenty 
of books than a king who did not love reading. 

T. B. Macaulay. 

THE TEACHER 

If we work upon marble, it will perish ; if we work 
upon brass, time will efface it ; if we rear temples, they 
will crumble into dust ; but if we work upon immortal 
souls, if we imbue them with principles, with the just 
fear of God and love of fellow men, we engrave on 
those tablets something which will brighten all eternity. 

Daniel Webster. 



I 



MY SYMPHONY 

To live content with small means ; to seek elegance 
rather than luxury, and refinement rather than fashion ; 
to be worthy, not respectable ; and wealthy, not rich ; to 
study hard, think quietly, talk gently, act frankly ; to 
listen to stars and birds, babes and sages, with open 
heart ; to bear all cheerfully, do all bravely, await occa- 
sions, hurry never ; in a word, to let the spiritual, un- 
bidden and unconscious, grow up through the common. 

This is to be my symphony. — William Henry Channing. 

204, 




MISCELLANEA 



LINCOLN'S CREED 

1 have never united myself to any church, because 
I have found difficulty in giving my assent, without 
mental reservation, to the long complicated statements 
of Christian doctrine which characterise their Articles 
of Belief and Confessions of Faith. Whenever any 
church will inscribe over its altar, as its sole qualifi- 
cation for membership, the Saviour's condensed state- 
ment of the substance of both law and gospel, " Thou 
shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and 
with all thy soul, and with all thy mind, and thy neigh- 
bour as thyself," that church will I join with all my 

heart and all my soul. — Abraham Lincoln. 

PLAIN GOODNESS 

Do not be troubled because you have not great vir- 
tues. God made a million spears of grass when He 

made one tree. — Henry Ward Beecher. 



A FOOT-PATH TO PEACE 

To be glad of life because it gives you the chance to 
love and to work and play and to look up at the stars. 
To be satisfied with your possessions, but not contented 
with yourself until you have made the best of them. 
To despise nothing in the world except falsehood and 
meanness, and to fear nothing except cowardice. To 
be governed by your admirations rather than by your 
disgusts ; to covet nothing that is your neighbour's ex- 
cept his kindness of heart and gentleness of manners. 
To think seldom of your enemies, often of your friends, 

205 



, MISCELLANEA 

^1 1 and every day of Christ ; and to spend as much time as ^ 
— "lyou can, with body and with spirit, in God's oiit-of- 
i^rj doors. These are Uttle guideposts on the foot-path to |//-\ 



peace. 



Henry Van Dyke. 



A PRAYER 

-^ I Purge out of every heart the lurking grudge. Give 

^''Jyus grace and strength to forbear and to persevere. 

^Offenders, give us the grace to accept and to forgive 

^ offenders. Forgetful ourselves, help us to bear cheer- 

gyJI^ fully the forgetfulness of others. Give us courage and 

gaiety and the quiet mind. Spare us to our friends, 

3^ soften us to our enemies. Bless us, if it may be, in all 

our innocent endeavours. If it may not, give us the 

strength to encounter that which is to come, that we 

be brave in peril, constant in tribulation, temperate in 

t wrath, and in all changes of fortune, and down to the 

dates of death, loyal and loving one to another. 

— Robert Louis Stevenson. 



206 



^M^^^^^^^^^ 



I 



f 1 

I i 

gr^ List of Authors and Titles !^ 

l^lj In this list, the names of the publishers of American authors are given, whether y /^ 

|\ \ the extract used be from matter still under copyright or not. Readers may thus v/n 

Jlvl fi''"^ '"'■o^^ of any author by whom they are attracted. ttWt 

Paob XJO' 

Joseph Addison (16T9-1719) 40 r^\ 

///9 Westminster Abbey From The Spectator. \\ f 

Y n Simplicity in Writing " " " <^^ 

yjh Henry Mills Alden (1836- ) 62 J\A 

J^ Jesus From " God in His World. " vSLl 

1^^ Publishers : Haepbb AND Bbothbbs, New York. iv^\ 

|)Aj The Apocr^tha (300 B.c.-A.D.) 58 f// 

\\b Death of the Righteous . . . From "The Wisdom of Solomon." M//\ 

fjX Francis, Lord Bacon (1561-1626) 14 //l 

^jry Of Faith and Age From "Essay s. " l\k1 

\jl Henry Ward Beecher (1813-1887) 188 f^^ 

j//^ The Death of Lincoln From " Patriotic Addresses. " \\r 

' l\ Farming by Fancy " Star Papers. #^W 

I 1 Publishers : The Pilqeiu Pbebs, Boston. I '^^ 

VA/^ Amory Howe Bradford (1848- ) 108 jVA 

^^A Results of Puritanism .... From " Puritan Principles and the V^ I 

^f* Modem Worid." *oJ 

.^^^ [Publishers: The Pilgrim Press, Boston ; Macmillak & Co., New York. I| fv/ 

[\ Y Phillips Brooks (1835-1893) 200 y/f^ 

ilyl Fourth of July in Westminster Abbey . . . From Sermon : "The /n 

'Vj Candle of the Lord." /jL 

(^Tj Publishers: E. P. DuTTOH & Co., New York. I v7 

\ty Henry, Lord Broughasi (17T8-1868) 124 \C(\ 

y/0 Highest Duty of a Legislator . . . From Speech : " Revision of \VI 

aA the Laws." ^^0* 



LIST OF AUTHORS AND TITLES 






(j^)/ William Jennings Bryan (1860- ) 

The Cross of Gold From Speech : Democratic National 

Convention, 1896. 
Publishers: W. P. Conket & Co., Chicago. 

Edwabd G. E. Bul\ver, Lord Litton (1803-1873) 

Si^Ut Woman as Friend From " The Caxtons." 



Page ^^ 
192 G*] 



12 



Edmund Bubke (1T28-1797) 



90 



Marie Antoinette 
The Tax on Tea . 



From " Reflections on the French Revolution." 
" Speech: " The Conciliation of America. " 



Thomas Carlyle (1795-1881) 52 

Biography in Literature From " Essay on Biography. " 



Lord Chesterfield (1694^1773) 
f^^ I Good Breeding 



From " Letters to His Son. 



^ 



Henry Clay (1777-1852) 82 

'">\ The Greek Revolution From Speech in Congress. 

"" Thomas de Quincey (1786-1859) 142 

The Later Effects of Opium . . . From " Confessions of an English 

Opium-Eater." 

■v\ Charles Dickeks (1812-1870) 120 



The Circumlocution Office From " Little Dorrit." 

Church Bells " "The Chimes." 



John William Draper (1811-1882) 
Individual and National Life 



. From " The Intellectual Devel- 
opment of Europe." 

Publishers : Charles Sceibner's Sons, New Tork. 



88 



68 



Q\]) Henry Drummond (1852-1897) 

The Supreme Good . P'rom " The Greatest Thing in the World. " 

Publishers : James Pott & Co., New York. 

George Eliot (Mary A. Evans Cross) 172 

Wit and Humour From " Heinrich Heine." 

V?/^ Ralph Waldo Ejierson (1803-1882) 56 

Plato : or, the Philosopher .... From " Representative Men." 
(^ Publishers: Houghton, Mifflin, & Co., Boston. 

Edward Everett (1794-1865) 30 

Gill Washington From "The Character of Washington." 






w 






Publishers ; 


Little, Brown & Co., 


, Boston. 


p 








210 




t^0d 


^5^ 


^ 




rteS^E^ 


^ 


^ 


^ 


^ 


l^QqP 


"S'K^E^ 


^ 



LIST OF AUTHORS AND TITLES 



-^11 John Fiske (184.2-1901) 174 ^ 

"^-Ltj Style in Writing From " Athenian and American Life ; " 

in "The Unseen World," etc. 
Publishers ; Houqhtoh, Mutlin, & Co., Boston. 

Benjajhn Franklin (1706-1790) 24 

0^1L War and Peace From " Letters. " C^J 

Pride of Opinion . . "Speech before Constitutional Convention." 
7^1 The Whistle "Works." 

^__ _ James Anthony Froude (1818-1894) 128 

O^^^ Henry the Eighth From " History of England." 

-^ Dr. Thomas Fuller (1608-1661) 38 

^" The Divine Goodness 



. From " Good Thoughts in Bad Times.' 



To-morrow, To-morrow 



Washington Gladden (1836- ) 98 

'V^ Paying Taxes .... From " The Social Problems of the Future. " 

^"-^ Publishers : The Pilgrim Press, Boston. 

William Ewart Gladstone (1809-1898) 197 

America and Britain . . From " Kin Beyond Sea" (iVbriA^mmcam 
Bmww, 1898). 

Charles Cavendish Fulke Greville (1794-1805) 78 

Young Queen Victoria From " The Greville Memoirs." 

Oliver Goldsmith (1728-1774) ISO 

7^ The Vicar's Family From " The Vicar of Wakefield." 

John Bartholomew Gough (1817-1886) 110 

(iTii Drunkenness From Address to Y. M. C. A., London. 

Philip Gilbert Hamerton (1834-1894) 154 

'/^ Present Value of Literature .... From " Thoughts about Art." 

Nathaniel Hawthorne (1804-1864) 134 

QfJI After the Murder 



..... From "The Marble Faun." 

Self-Punishment " "The Scarlet Letter." 

Publishers: HouoUTON, MiFFLlH & Co., Boston. 



Newell Dwight Hillis (1858- ) 102 

From Contempt to Glory . . From " Great Books as Life-Teachers." 

Publishers : The Fleming H. Bevell Co., New York ; Macmillan & Co., New York. 
311 



ft) LIST OF AUTHORS AND TITLES 
^» 

JosiAH Gilbert Hoixand (1819-1881) 

Finding One's Work . From " Plain Talks on Familiar Subjects." 
Publshers J Charles Scriber's Bona, New York. 



Thomson Jay Hudson (1834-1903) . 
The Dual Mind in Shakespeare . 



From " The Law of Psychic 
Phenomena. " 
Publishers : A. C. McClueo & Co., Chicago. 

David Hume (lTll-1776) 

Elizabeth of England From " History of England." 

Washington Irving (1783-1859) 

The Palace of the Moors From "The Alhambra." 

Publishers: G. P. Pittnam's Sons, New York. 

Thomas Jeefebson (1743-1826) 

Declaration of Independence 



Jesus, Son of Sirach (24.7-223 B.C.) 

Dangers of the Tongue . . From " Ecclesiasticus " (The Apocrypha). 

Samuel Johnson (1709-1784) 
Spelling Reform . . . 



From " Preface to English Dictionary.'' 



WiLUAM George Jordan (1864- ) 

Personality From " The Majesty of Calmness." 

Publishers : The Fleming H. Revell Co., New York. 



Elisha Kent Kane (1820-1857) 

Hunger in the Arctics .... From " Second Arctic Expedition. 
Original Publishers : Childs & Peterson, Philadelpliia (out of print). 

Thomas a Kempis (1379-1471) . 
The Way of the Holy Cross . 



From " The Imitation of Christ.' 



Charles Lamb (1775-1834) 

The Borrower From " Essays of Ella. " 

Children " " " 

Abraham Lincoln (1813-1865) 

The Gettysburg Address November, 19, 1863. 

John Lord (1812-1896) 

The Crusades From " Beacon Lights of History." 

Publishers: James Clabke & Co., New York. ^ 
212 



fA 


Pase j^^ 


la 


160 ^\ 


131 V X 




*«) 


'av 


166 9# 1 


132 I W 


?) 


64 «| 1 


hS 


186 y/JL 


85 ^1^ 



Ifi-^^ 



LIST OF AUTHORS AND TITLES 



Jasies Russell Lowell (1819-1891) 

Worth and Choice of Books .... From " Books and Libraries." 
Publishers : Hocohtoh, Mifflih & Co., Boston. 

Hamilton Wright Mabie (1846- ) 

The First Delight From " Books and Culture." 

Publiahera : Dodd, Mead & Co., New York. 

Thomas Babington, Lord Macaulay (1800-1859) 

The Puritans From Essay on " Milton." 

Milton " " " 

William McKinley (1844-1901) 

Protection and Reciprocity From Last Speech. 



John Milton (1608-16T4) 

A Free Press From " Areopagitica." 

Life in Books " " 

Donald Grant Mitchell (Ik Marvel) (1822- ) 

Sea-Coal From " Reveries of a Bachelor." 

Publishers ; Chaeles Scribnek's Sons, New York. 



Sarah Margaret Fuller Ossoli (1810-1850) 

Woman's Rights . . . From " Woman in the Nineteenth Century." 

Wendell Phillips (1811-1884) 

The Hero of Hay ti . . From Lecture : "Toussaint L'Ouverture." 

Publishers ; Street & Smith, New York. 



Edgar Allan Poe (1811-1849) 

The Poetic Principle From " Essay, 



same title. 



RossiTER Worthington Raymond (1840- ) 

Christ's View of Death From A Funeral Address. 






Theodore Roosevelt (1858- ) . 
National Control of Corporations 



From Public Letter to Hon. 
J. E. Watson, Aug. 1&06. 
Publishers : G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York. 

Jean Jacques Rousseau (1712-1778) 

Social Training From "^^mUe." 

John Ruskin (1819-1900) .... 
St. Mark's Cathedral . . . , 



171 



104 



126 



20 



10 



76 



112 



168 



60 



194 



156 



44 



From " The Stones of Venice." 



213 



¥^ )^m:^:cz}a::^a:2a:n: ^ 



'sf^ 



'■^^ LIST OF AUTHORS AND TITLES J^''" 



•' 



William Henry Seward (1801-1872) 184i •. 

The Irrepressible Conflict .... From Speech, Rochester, N. Y., if \ 

October, 1858. ^ '^ 

p \ William Shakespeare (1564.-1616) 162 ^ ^"^ 

Mental Distemperature . . From " Hamlet, Prince of Denmark." 

Hamlet, on the Art of Elocution " " " 

The Code of Quarrel . . . . " " As You Like It." •>^ 

Sydney Smith (1771-1845) 1^ "^ 

I ^ The Cost of Glory .... From A Review : " Statistical Annals ? ^ 

"^ (\ of the U. S. of America." T\ f\ 






/^ r \ of the U . S. ot America. " /Y\ 

^ ^ Herbert Spencer (1820-1903) 158 V '# 

•n /-• Moral Training From "Education." ^\ /* 

/ \ Laurence Sterne (1713-1768) ^*® ^ Jl 

K> -» The Caged Starling From "A Sentimental Journey." % j^ 

^ ^ Uncle Toby " " The Life and Opinions of % M 

d^ ^ Tristram Shandy, Gent." £ \ 

V "^ Robert Louis Balfour Stevenson (1850-1904) 1^ % ^ 

^ ^ Epochs in Youth From " Crabbed Age and Youth." i- .% 

/ \ Richard Salter Storrs (1821-1900) 1'* »> ^ 

K" ^P The Power of Heroic Example . . . From " Historical Lecture." w w 

^S f^ Harriet Beecher Stowe (1811-1896) ^ i^ \ 

£ \ Yankee " Faculty " From " The Minister's Wooing." ^ r^ 

m" "y The Fugitive's Escape " " Uncle Tom's Cabin." J • 

(^ ^^ Publishers : HonoHTOH, MirniH & Co., Boston. ^N i3 

/ J Charles Sumner (1811-1874) 180 ^ -^ 

V "^ Forecast of Emancipation .... From Oration : July 4, 1845. ^ j 

%. ,9 Anti-Slavery " Fanaticism " " Speech : in U. S. Sen- /\ 

/^ '\ ate, 1856. ^ A 

■T" ■J Jonathan Swift (1667-1745) 1** » « 

^ ^ The Emperor of Lilliput From " Gulhver's Travels." /^ C 

Y^ \ WiLijAM Makepeace Thackeray (1811-1863) 176 ^ ^ 

1^ ^ Living Characters of Fiction . . . From " De Finibus " (" Round- ^ ' 

^ <^ about Papers "). 'x f* 

'yV ^ Eyes and Jewels " "The History of Henry / 1 

tJ .1. ^-'''■" vi 

"9 m 1 



• 



^ rr:a::a::a::a:::i:a:n: ^ 



^-f LIST OF AUTHORS AND TITLES k\ 

L jk ""^""^ '^°^" (1800-1873) "* £ \ 

r "^ A View of Woman From " Woman's Rights." ^ f^ 

*y ^ William Jewett Tucker (1880- ) 100 ». ^» 

I jk Social Duty of the Church .... From "The New Puritanism." iT \ 

r ^B Publishers : Thk Pilobim Pbbbs, Boston. ^ ^m 

*> ^^ IzAAK Walton (1593-1683) 18 •^ ^ 

[ A The Angler to the Hunter and the Falconer . . From " The Com- £ '\ 

% plete Angler." t" -y 

S ^v George Washingtok (1732-1799) 28 •\y <• 

, 1 Party Spirit From " Farewell Address. " Bv. x« 

^ ^ The Federal Government " " " % '5F 

K >•» Education " " " *\ ^ 

\ Daniel Webster (1782-1859) ^^ fcs Ji 

t' -m The Union From " Reply to Senator Hayne." % W 

^ Publishers: Little, Eeown & Co., Boston. ^ 

f^ 'X Theodore Dwight Woolsey (1801-1889) ^° |v '^k 

k> .^ Socialism Means Despotism . . From " Communism and Socialism ff** '^ 

" ^ in their History and Theory." ^ » 

S ^1 Publishers : Chaeies Scbibnee's Sons, New York. J\ ^v 

ti — H 

{'\ MISCELLANEA A A 

5^ W Life Thomas Carlyle 202 ^ ^ 

yy f^ A Man's Work Robert Louis Stevenson 203 jf] X 

r 1 The Simple Life Charles Wagnek 203 t« ■^ 

t* "0 Books and Authors .... Noah Porter 203 J ~L 

► /# Choice of Books .... Frederic Harrison 203 y< ^^ 

M '\ Reading T. B. Macaulay 204 ^ ^ 

L J The Teacher Daniel Websi'er 204 % # 

% ^ My Symphony William Henry Channing 204 •% /* 



►v ^ Lincoln's Creed Abraham Lincoln 205 ^T \ 

f ' \ Plain Goodness Henry Ward Beechee 205 ^^ '^ 

k. .^ A Foot-path to Peace . . . Henby Van Dyke 205 % ^ 

^ ^ A Prayer Robert Louis Stevenson 206 •n f^ 



A Prayer Robert Louis Stevenson 206 •n /• 



WOV 3 I9r!'=( 



Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent: t^agnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: Jan. 2009 

PreservationTechnologies 



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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



013 718 057 1 



